I come to warn you. I found a wild man loose in yourgrounds—a regular devil. He could pull a guy like me topieces. He gave me the run of my life. He don’t wear anyclothes to speak of， he climbs trees like a monkey， and heruns like a deer. I saw him chasing a coyote， and the last Isaw of it， by God， he was gaining on it.”
Dave paused and looked for the effect that would followhis words. But no effect came. James Ward was quietlycurious， and that was all.
“Very remarkable， very remarkable，” he murmured. “Awild man， you say. Why have you come to tell me？”
“To warn you of your danger. I’m something of a hardproposition myself， but I don’t believe in killing people ...
that is， unnecessarily. I realized that you was in danger. Ithought I’d warn you. Honest， that’s the game. Of course，if you wanted to give me anything for my trouble， I’d takeit. That was in my mind， too. But I don’t care whetheryou give me anything or not. I’ve warned you any way， anddone my duty.”
Mr. Ward meditated and drummed on the surface ofhis desk. Dave noticed they were large， powerful hands，withal well-cared for despite their dark sunburn. Also， henoted what had already caught his eye before—a tiny stripof flesh-colored courtplaster on the forehead over one eve.
And still the thought that forced itself into his mind wasunbelievable.
Mr. Ward took a wallet from his inside coat pocket，drew out a greenback， and passed it to Dave， who noted ashe pocketed it that it was for twenty dollars.
“Thank you，” said Mr. Ward， indicating that the interviewwas at an end.
“I shall have the matter investigated. A wild man runningloose IS dangerous.”
But so quiet a man was Mr. Ward， that Dave’s couragereturned. Besides， a new theory had suggested itself. Thewild man was evidently Mr. Ward’s brother， a lunaticprivately confined. Dave had heard of such things. PerhapsMr. Ward wanted it kept quiet. That was why he had givenhim the twenty dollars.
“Say，” Dave began， “now I come to think of it that wildman looked a lot like you—”
That was as far as Dave got， for at that moment hewitnessed a transformation and found himself gazing intothe same unspeakably ferocious blue eyes of the nightbefore， at the same clutching talon-like hands， and at thesame formidable bulk in the act of springing upon him.
But this time Dave had no night-stick to throw， and hewas caught by the biceps of both arms in a grip so terrificthat it made him groan with pain. He saw the large whiteteeth exposed， for all the world as a dog’s about to bite.
Mr. Ward’s beard brushed his face as the teeth went in forthe grip on his throat. But the bite was not given. Instead，Dave felt the other’s body stiffen as with an iron restraint，and then he was flung aside， without effort but with suchforce that only the wall stopped his momentum anddropped him gasping to the floor.
“What do you mean by coming here and trying toblackmail me？” Mr. Ward was snarling at him. “Here， giveme back that money.”
Dave passed the bill back without a word.
“I thought you came here with good intentions. I knowyou now. Let me see and hear no more of you， or I’ll putyou in prison where you belong. Do you understand？”
“Yes， sir，” Dave gasped.
“Then go.”
And Dave went， without further word， both his bicepsaching intolerably from the bruise of that tremendousgrip. As his hand rested on the door knob， he was stopped.
“You were lucky，” Mr. Ward was saying， and Dave notedthat his face and eyes were cruel and gloating and proud.
“You were lucky. Had I wanted， I could have torn yourmuscles out of your arms and thrown them in the wastebasket there.”
“Yes， sir，” said Dave； and absolute conviction vibrated inhis voice.
He opened the door and passed out. The secretarylooked at him interrogatively.
“Gosh！” was all Dave vouchsafed， and with this utterancepassed out of the offices and the story.
III
James G. Ward was forty years of age， a successfulbusiness man， and very unhappy. For forty years he hadvainly tried to solve a problem that was really himselfand that with increasing years became more and morea woeful affliction. In himself he was two men， and，chronologically speaking， these men were several thousandyears or so apart. He had studied the question of dualpersonality probably more profoundly than any half dozenof the leading specialists in that intricate and mysteriouspsychological field. In himself he was a different casefrom any that had been recorded. Even the most fancifulflights of the fiction-writers had not quite hit upon him.
He was not a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde， nor was he like theunfortunate young man in Kipling’s “Greatest Story in theWorld.” His two personalities were so mixed that theywere practically aware of themselves and of each other allthe time.
His other self he had located as a savage and a barbarianliving under the primitive conditions of several thousandyears before. But which self was he， and which was theother， he could never tell. For he was both selves， and bothselves all the time. Very rarely indeed did it happen thatone self did not know what the other was doing. Anotherthing was that he had no visions nor memories of the pastin which that early self had lived. That early self lived inthe present； but while it lived in the present， it was underthe compulsion to live the way of life that must have beenin that distant past.
In his childhood he had been a problem to his father andmother， and to the family doctors， though never had theycome within a thousand miles of hitting upon the clue tohis erratic， conduct. Thus， they could not understand hisexcessive somnolence in the forenoon， nor his excessiveactivity at night. When they found him wandering alongthe hallways at night， or climbing over giddy roofs， orrunning in the hills， they decided he was a somnambulist.
In reality he was wide-eyed awake and merely under thenightroaming compulsion of his early self. Questioned byan obtuse medico， he once told the truth and suffered theignominy of having the revelation contemptuously labeledand dismissed as “dreams.”
