e hotel, all told him that. But whether it was right or wrong, he
did not know. His mistress had quite sanctioned his leaving the corral,
and so all things developing out of that must have her sanction
also--thus worked his instincts. So not once had he rebelled. Nor was he
rebelling now. And yet--and this was his emotional conflict--within him
was a vague feeling that he should rebel, should kick, buck, toss, and
pitch, and throw off this stranger. It grew upon him, this feeling,
until, in a section of town unfamiliar to him, he decided to give way to
it, to take a chance, anyway, of unseating this man and dashing back
into that part of town familiar to him. But he did not. Suddenly a
soothing voice restrained, the voice of his rider, which swept away for
a time all thought of rebellion.

"So you're Pat!" the man said, and, though his 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 came
not through the flicking of his conscience like his former feeling, but
through sudden awakening to physical discomfort. For a time he did not
know what it