I was glad that Dick Blair could testify concerning my whereabouts and the scene in the dining room directly after the robbery.  The merchant knew nothing of Blair’s presence on the occasion—­ at least I imagined so from his conversation—­ and might, by saying too much, “put his foot in it.”

But now my mind was filled with only one thought.  The three men intended to take me to the Darbyville jail.  I was to be ignominiously dragged back to the prison from which I had escaped.

Once again in Ezekiel Booth’s custody I was certain he would keep so strict a guard over me that further breaking away would be out of the question.  Perhaps Judge Penfold would consider me so dangerous a prisoner as to send me to the county jail for safe keeping, in which case it would be harder than ever for me to clear myself or see Kate.

For an instant I meditated taking to my legs and running my chances, but this idea was knocked in the head by Farmer Decker grasping me by the collar.

“Maybe he might take a notion and run away,” he explained.  “He did it once, you say.”

“A good idea to hold him,” said Mr. Woodward.  “Have you finished hitching up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you room for him?”

“I might put in another seat.”

“Do so.  And hurry; the rain has slackened up a bit, and we may reach Darbyville before it starts again.”

The extra seat was soon placed in the carriage.  Then the farmer procured a couple of rubber blankets.

“All ready now,” he said.  “How shall we sit?”

“You and Mr. Stumpy sit in front.  I and the boy will occupy the back seat.  Come, Strong, get in.”

For an instant I thought of refusing.  The merchant had no right to order me.  But then I reflected that a refusal would do no good, and might do harm, so without a word I entered the carriage.

The others were not slow to follow.  Then Farmer Decker chirruped to Billy, and we rolled out of the farm yard and down the road.

But little was said on the way.  I was busy with my own thoughts, and so were Mr. Woodward and Stumpy.  The farmer asked several questions, but the merchant said he would learn all he wished to know at the judge’s office, and this quieted him.

About five o’clock in the afternoon we rolled into Darbyville.  While crossing the Pass River the sun had burst through the clouds, and now all was as bright and fresh as ever.

Judge Penfold’s office was situated in the centre of the principal business block.  When we arrived there we found a number of men standing about the door, no doubt discussing my escape, for they uttered many exclamations of surprise on seeing me.

Chief among them was Parsons, who looked pale and worried.

“Roger Strong!” he exclaimed.  “Where have you been?”

“Took a walk for my health,” I replied as lightly as I could, though my heart was heavy.