“I’d kind of like to stay,” he murmured, “but I got to go.”

A dull voice called from the next room.

“It’s Joe Cumberland,” said Byrne.  “You see, he is not sleeping!”

The brow of Barry clouded, and he turned gloomily back.

“Maybe I better stay,” he agreed.

Yet before he made a step Byrne heard a far-away honking of the wild geese, that musical discord carrying for uncounted miles through the windy air.  The sound worked like magic on Barry.  He whirled back.

“I got to go,” he repeated.

And yet Byrne blocked the way.  It required more courage to do that than to do anything he had ever attempted in his life.  The sweat poured out from under his armpits as the stranger stepped near; the blood rushed from his face as he stared into the eyes of Barry—­eyes which now held an uncanny glimmer of yellow light.

“Sir,” said Byrne huskily, “you must not go!  Listen!  Old Cumberland is calling to you again!  Does that mean nothing?  If you have some errand out in the night, let me go for you.”

“Partner,” said the soft voice of Barry, “stand aside.  I got no time, I’m wanted!”

Every muscle of Randall Byrne’s body was set to repulse the stranger in any effort to pass through that door, and yet, mysteriously, against his will, he found himself standing to one side, and saw the other slip through the open door.

“Dan!  Are ye there?” called a louder voice from the room beyond.

There was no help for it.  He, himself, must go back and face Joe Cumberland.  With a lie, no doubt.  He would say that Dan had stepped out for a moment and would be back again.  That might put Cumberland safely to sleep.  In the morning, to be sure, he would find out the deception—­but let every day bury its dead.  Here was enough trouble for one night.  He went slowly, but steadily enough, towards the door of what had now become a fatal room to the doctor.  In that room he had seen his dearest doctrines cremated.  Out of that room he had come bearing the ashes of his hopes in his hands.  Now he must go back once more to try to fill, with science, a gap of which science could never take cognizance.

He lingered another instant with his hand on the door; then he cast it wide bravely enough and stepped in.  Joe Cumberland was sitting up on the edge of his couch.  There was colour in the old man’s face.  It almost seemed, to the incredulous eyes of Byrne, that the face was filled out a trifle.  Certainly the fire of the old cattleman’s glance was less unearthly.

“Where’s Dan?” he called.  “Where’d he go?”

It was no longer the deep, controlled voice of the stoic; it was the almost whining complaint of vital weakness.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” parried Byrne.  “Anything you need or wish?”

“Him!” answered the old man explosively.  “Damn it, I need Dan!  Where is he?  He was here.  I felt him here while I was sleepin’. where is he?”