但是他没有注意到我的嘲笑口气，“噢，我也不知道，”他咯咯地笑着说，“不过，我准备明天去，多捕点鲑鱼回来。”

这番话使我对行动方案有了双倍的把握，我兴高采烈地跑回家，想提前庆祝一下胜利。

第二天清晨，我看见他带着一张渔网和一个黄麻袋出了门，“女战神”屁颠屁颠地跟在后面。我知道他要去哪里，所以，我抄近路穿过后面的牧场，蹚过那些草丛向山顶爬去。我小心地不被他发现，沿着山路走了几英里，之后来到群山中的一处山窝里，它宛如一座古希腊的“圆形剧场”。峡谷里流出来的一条湍急的小溪在这里陡然变缓，形成了一个清澈透明的大水湾，四周的岩石环绕着。这就是他要来的那个地方！我在山顶的某个位置找了块石头坐下来，这个位置可以一览水湾边的一切，我得意地点起了烟斗。

我在那等了好长一段时间，约翰·克莱沃豪斯才沿着河床慢悠悠地迎面走来，“女战神”漫不经心地在他四周转悠着，看来他们的心情都不错。“女战神”短促而轻快地吠叫着，约翰·克莱沃豪斯嘴里哼着低沉的小调，两个家伙一唱一和。等他来到水湾后，便扔下渔网和黄麻袋，然后从屁股口袋里掏出一个又大又粗的像是蜡烛一样的东西。我知道那是一根“爆破筒”，这是他捕鱼的工具之一。他就是靠这个炸药炸死鲑鱼的。只见他把那个“爆破筒”紧紧地绑在一团棉花里，塞进导火索并点燃它，然后立刻把它扔进了水湾。

这时，“女战神”像闪电一样跳进水里去追那个“爆破筒”。我高兴得忘了形，竟然尖叫起来。克莱沃豪斯朝它大喊着，但是没有一点儿用。尽管他用泥块和石子朝它扔去，它依然义无反顾地游了过去，直到抓到那根“木棍”，然后将其叨在嘴里。当“女战神”转身朝岸上游来时，克莱沃豪斯破天荒地头一次意识到了危险，撒腿就向远处跑。正如我预测和计划的那样，狗上岸后，就紧追克莱沃豪斯不放。噢，我想告诉你们的是，那简直是太棒了！

在此之前我已经描述过这里的地形，那个水湾位于一个圆形山谷中，水湾的上游和下游遍地是垫脚的石头。于是，克莱沃豪斯和“女战神”踩着那些垫脚石追来绕去，上蹿下跳的。如果不是亲眼所见，我简直不敢相信那样一个笨拙的人竟然跑得那么快。但是，尽管他跑得那么快，“女战神”却在他后面紧追不舍，并且离他越来越近。正当要追上他时，克莱沃豪斯使出全身的力气猛地向前一跃，“女战神”也随之一跃，鼻子正好碰到他的膝盖。猛然间，一道火光闪过，一股烟柱冲天而起，可怕的爆炸终于发生了。等到能看清楚时，发现地面上除了一个大坑外，之前的那个男人和那条狗都已经灰飞烟灭。

“非法捕鱼时死于意外事故”——这是验尸员下的结论。我就是这样干净利索、天衣无缝地除掉了约翰·克莱沃豪斯，并得意于自己的这种办事风格。这件事既没有拖泥带水，也不野蛮凶残，因此，在整个实施过程中我没必要感到愧疚，我敢肯定你也会这样想。从此，他恶魔般的狂笑再也不会回**在群山之间了，他那张肥胖的圆脸再也不会惹我心烦了。现在，我的生活又恢复了平静，连晚上做梦都觉得很香了。

John Claverhouse was a moon-faced man. You know the kind， cheek-bones wide apart， chin and forehead melting into the cheeks to complete the perfect round， and the nose， broad and pudgy， equidistant from the circumference， flattened against the very centre of the face like a dough-ball upon the ceiling.Perhaps that is why I hated him， for truly he had become an offense to my eyes， and I believed the earth to be cumbered with his presence.

Be that as it may， I hated John Claverhouse. Not that he had done me what society would consider a wrong or an ill turn.Far from it.The evil was of a deeper， subtler sort；so elusive， so intangible， as to defy clear， definite analysis in words.We all experience such things at some period in our lives.For the first time we see a certain individual， one who the very instant before we did not dream existed；and yet， at the first moment of meeting， we say："I do not like that man."Why do we not like him？Ah， we do not know why；we know only that we do not.We have taken a dislike， that is all.And so have I with John Claverhouse.

What right had such a man to be happy？Yet he was an optimist. He was always gleeful and laughing.All things were always all right， curse him！Ah！How it grated on my soul that he should be so happy！Other men could laugh， and it did not bother me.I even used to laugh myself-before I met John Claverhouse.

But his laugh！It irritated me， maddened me， as nothing else under the sun could irritate or madden me. It haunted me， gripped hold of me， and would not let me go.It was a huge， gargantuan laugh.Waking or sleeping it was always with me， whirring and jarring across my heart-strings like an enormous rasp.At break of day it came whooping across the fields to spoil my pleasant morning revery.Under the aching noonday glare， when the green things drooped and the birds withdrew to the depths of the forest， and all nature drowsed， his great"Ha！ha！"and"Ho！ho！"rose up to the sky and challenged the sun.And at black midnight， from the lonely cross-roads where he turned from town into his own place， came his plaguey cachinnations to rouse me from my sleep and make me writhe and clench my nails into my palms.

I went forth privily in the night-time， and turned his cattle into his fields， and in the morning heard his whooping laugh as he drove them back again."It is nothing，"he said，"the poor， dumb beasties are not to be blamed for straying into fatter pastures."

He had a dog he called"Mars，"a big， splendid brute， part deer-hound and part blood-hound， and resembling both. Mars was a great delight to him， and they were always together.But I bided my time， and one day， when opportunity was ripe， lured the animal away and settled for him with strychnine and beefsteak.It made positively no impression on John Claverhouse.His laugh was as hearty and frequent as ever， and his face as much like the full moon as it always had been.

Then I set fire to his haystacks and his barn. But the next morning， being Sunday， he went forth blithe and cheerful."Where are you going？"I asked him， as he went by the cross-roads."Trout，"he said， and his face beamed like a full moon."I just dote on trout."

Was there ever such an impossible man！His whole harvest had gone up in his haystacks and barn. It was uninsured， I knew.And yet， in the face of famine and the rigorous winter， he went out gayly in quest of a mess of trout， forsooth， because he"doted"on them！Had gloom but rested， no matter how lightly， on his brow， or had his bovine countenance grown long and serious and less like the moon， or had he removed that smile but once from off his face， I am sure I could have forgiven him for existing.But no， he grew only more cheerful under misfortune.

I insulted him. He looked at me in slow and smiling surprise."I fight you？Why？"he asked slowly.And then he laughed."You are so funny！Ho！ho！You'll be the death of me！Hee！hee！hee！Oh！Ho！ho！ho！

What would you？It was past endurance. By the blood of Judas， how I hated him！Then there was that name-Claverhouse！What a name！Wasn't it absurd？Claverhouse！Merciful heaven， why Claverhouse？Again and again I asked myself that question.I should not have minded Smith， or Brown， or Jones-but Claverhouse！I leave it to you.Repeat it to yourself-Claverhouse.Just listen to the ridiculous sound of it-Claverhouse！Should a man live with such a name？I ask of you."No，"you say.And"No"said I.

But I bethought me of his mortgage. What of his crops and barn destroyed， I knew he would be unable to meet it.So I got a shrewd， close-mouthed， tight-fisted money-lender to get the mortgage transferred to him.I did not appear but through this agent I forced the foreclosure， and but few days were given John Claverhouse to remove his goods and chattels from the premises.Then I strolled down to see how he took it， for he had lived there upward of twenty years.But he met me with his saucer-eyes twinkling， and the light glowing and spreading in his face till it was as a full-risen moon.

"Ha！ha！ha！"he laughed."The funniest tike， that youngster of mine！Did you ever hear the like？Let me tell you. He was down playing by the edge of the river when a piece of the bank caved in and splashed him.'O papa！'he cried，'a great big puddle flew up and hit me.'"

He stopped and waited for me to join him in his infernal glee.

"I don't see any laugh in it，"I said shortly， and I know my face went sour.

He regarded me with wonderment， and then came the damnable light， glowing and spreading， as I have described it， till his face shone soft and warm， like the summer moon， and then the laugh-"Ha！ha！That's funny！You don't see it， eh？Hee！hee！Ho！ho！ho！He doesn't see it！Why， look here. You know a puddle."

But I turned on my heel and left him. That was the last.I could stand it no longer.The thing must end right there， I thought， curse him！The earth should be quit of him.And as I went over the hill， I could hear his monstrous laugh reverberating against the sky.

Now， I pride myself on doing things neatly， and when I resolved to kill John Claverhouse I had it in mind to do so in such fashion that I should not look back upon it and feel ashamed. I hate bungling， and I hate brutality.To me there is something repugnant in merely striking a man with one's naked fist-faugh！it is sickening！So， to shoot， or stab， or club John Claverhouse(oh， that name！)did not appeal to me.And not only was I impelled to do it neatly and artistically， but also in such manner that not the slightest possible suspicion could be directed against me.

To this end I bent my intellect， and， after a week of profound incubation， I hatched the scheme. Then I set to work.I bought a water spaniel bitch， five months old， and devoted my whole attention to her training.Had any one spied upon me， they would have remarked that this training consisted entirely of one thing-retrieving.I taught the dog， which I called"Bellona，"to fetch sticks I threw into the water， and not only to fetch， but to fetch at once， without mouthing or playing with them.The point was that she was to stop for nothing， but to deliver the stick in all haste.I made a practice of running away and leaving her to chase me， with the stick in her mouth， till she caught me.She was a bright animal， and took to the game with such eagerness that I was soon content.

After that， at the first casual opportunity， I presented Bellona to John Claverhouse. I knew what I was about， for I was aware of a little weakness of his， and of a little private sinning of which he was regularly and inveterately guilty.

"No，"he said， when I placed the end of the rope in his hand."No， you don't mean it."And his mouth opened wide and he grinned all over his damnable moon-face.

"I-I have a kind of thought， somehow， you didn't like me."he explained."Wasn't it funny for me to make such a mistake？"And at the thought he held his sides with laughter.

"What is her name？"he managed to ask between paroxysms."Bellona，"I said."Hee！hee！"he tittered."What a funny name."

I gritted my teeth， for his mirth put them on edge， and snapped out between them，"She was the wife of Mars， you know."

Then the light of the full moon began to suffuse his face， until he exploded with："That was my other dog. Well， I guess she's a widow now.Oh！Ho！ho！E！hee！hee！Ho！"he whooped after me， and I turned and fled swiftly over the hill.

The week passed by， and on Saturday evening I said to him，"You go away Monday， don't you？"

He nodded his head and grinned.

"Then you won't have another chance to get a mess of those trout you just'dote'on."

But he did not notice the sneer."Oh， I don't know，"he chuckled."I'm going up tomorrow to try pretty hard."

Thus was assurance made doubly sure， and I went back to my house hugging myself with rapture.

Early next morning I saw him go by with a dip-net and gunnysack， and Bellona trotting at his heels. I knew where he was bound， and cut out by the back pasture and climbed through the underbrush to the top of the mountain.Keeping carefully out of sight， I followed the crest along for a couple of miles to a natural amphitheatre in the hills， where the little river raced down out of a gorge and stopped for breath in a large and placid rock-bound pool.That was the spot！I sat down on the croup of the mountain， where I could see all that occurred， and lighted my pipe.

Many minutes had passed， John Claverhouse came plodding up the bed of the stream. Bellona was ambling about him， and they were in high feather， her short， snappy barks mingling with his deeper chest-notes.Arrived at the pool， he threw down the dip-net and sack， and drew from his hip-pocket what looked like a large， fat candle.But I knew it to be a stick of"giant"；for such was his method of catching trout.He dynamited them.He attached the fuse by wrapping the"giant"tightly in a piece of cotton.Then he ignited the fuse and tossed the explosive into the pool.

Like a flash， Bellona was into the pool after it. I could have shrieked aloud for joy.Claverhouse yelled at her， but without avail.He pelted her with clods and rocks， but she swam steadily on till she got the stick of"giant"in her mouth.When she whirled about and headed for the shore， then， for the first time， he realized his danger， and started to run.As foreseen and planned by me， she made the bank and took out after him.Oh， I tell you， it was great！

As I have said， the pool lay in a sort of amphitheatre. Above and below， the stream could be crossed by stepping-stones.And around and around， up and down and across the stones， raced Claverhouse and Bellona.I could never have believed that such an ungainly man could run so fast.But run he did， Bellona hot-footed after him， and gaining.And then， just as she caught up， he in full stride， and she leaping with nose at his knee， there was a sudden flash， a burst of smoke， a terrific detonation， and where man and dog had been the instant before there was nothing to be seen but a big hole in the ground.

"Death from accident while engaged in illegal fishing."That was the verdict of the coroner's jury；and that is why I pride myself on the neat and artistic way in which I finished off John Claverhouse. There was no bungling， no brutality；nothing of which to be ashamed in the whole transaction， as I am sure you will agree.No more does his infernal laugh go echoing among the hills， and no more does his fat moon-face rise up to vex me.My days are peaceful now， and my night's sleep deep.