voice was gentle, and perhaps kindly, as Pat judged
the human voice, he yet somehow did not like
the owner of it. "Well, they hain't lied to me,
anyway," went on the voice. "You're one nice
piece of horseflesh!"

That was all. But somehow it dispelled all
discontent within Pat. Thereafter he thought
only of his task, which was that of holding to a
devious course through winding alleys and streets
well under rein, until he found himself on the
river trail and heading south through a section
not unfamiliar to him. Then his interest only
quickened.

As he went on, it came to him that he rather
liked this traveling through the gloom of night.
It was a new experience for him, and the trail,
familiar to him, yet somehow not familiar, offered
much of interest. Ranch-houses, clumps of trees,
soft-rustling fields of alfalfa, looming up before
or beside him, taxed his powers of recognition
as the stars in the heavens, becoming ever more
overcast, withdrew, and with them the moon,
leaving the earth and its objects finally mere
tragic outlines. These objects, rising silently before
him, gave him many fitful starts, and seemed
to forbid this night-incursion. But he held to the
trail, for the most part in perfect contentment,
enjoying his unwonted call to duty, but wondering
whither it was leading him.

This contentment did not last. It broke as he
found himself rounding a bend which he recognized
as leading to the river bridge. The change

[[157]]

p156 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p157w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p158

v?