He had stiffened his flaccid will and spurred his trembling body forward.  If he had been unable to control his fear, at least he had not let it master him.  He had found out for Ryan where Dingwell was held prisoner.  It had been his intention to leave the park as soon as he knew this, report the facts to the friends of Dave, and let them devise a way of escape.  He had done his full share.  But he could not follow this course now.

The need of the cattleman was urgent.  Somehow it must be met at once.  Yet what could he do against two armed men who would not hesitate to shoot him down if necessary?  There must be some way of saving Dingwell if he could only find it.

In spite of his anxiety, a fine spiritual exaltation flooded him.  So far he had stood the acid test, had come through without dishonor.  He might be a coward; at least, he was not a quitter.  Plenty of men would have done his day’s work without a tremor.  What brought comfort to Roy’s soul was that he had been able to do it at all.

Mrs. Rothgerber greeted him with exclamations of delight.  The message of Rutherford had frightened her even though she did not entirely understand it.

“Hermann iss out looking for you.  Mr. Rutherford—­the one that owns the horse ranch—­he wass here and left a message for you.”

“A message for me!  What was it?”

With many an “Ach!” she managed to tell him.

The face of her boarder went white.  Since Rutherford was warning him against Tighe, the danger must be imminent.  Should he go down to the horse ranch now?  Or had he better wait until it was quite dark?  While he was still debating this with himself, the old German came into the house.

“Home, eh?  Gut, gut!  They are already yet watching the road.”

Roy’s throat choked.  “Who?”

This question Rothgerber could not answer.  In the dusk he had not recognized the men he had seen.  Moreover, they had ridden into the brush to escape observation.  Both of them had been armed with rifles.

The old woman started to light a lamp, but Roy stopped her.  “Let’s eat in the dark,” he proposed.  “Then I’ll slip out to the bunkhouse and you can have your light.”

His voice shook.  When he tried to eat, his fingers could scarcely hold a knife and fork.  Supper was for him a sham.  A steel band seemed to grip his throat and make the swallowing of food impossible.  He was as unnerved as a condemned criminal waiting for the noose.

After drinking a cup of coffee, he pushed back his chair and rose.

“Petter stay with us,” urged the old German.  He did not know why this young man was in danger, but he read in the face the stark fear of a soul in travail.

“No.  I’ll saddle and go down to see Rutherford.  Good-night.”

Roy went out of the back door and crept along the shadows of the hill.  Beneath his foot a dry twig snapped.  It was enough.  He fled panic-stricken, pursued by all the demons of hell his fears could evoke.  A deadly, unnerving terror clutched at his throat.  The pounding blood seemed ready to burst the veins at his temples.