ack to rest, without any very
clear idea of what they had been called on to do. Bob leaned back in his
chair, the precious document clasped tight. The taut cords of his being
had relaxed. For a moment he rested. To his consciousness dully
penetrated the sound of a rooster crowing.

"Don't see how you keep chickens," he found himself saying; "we can't.
Coyotes and cats get 'em. I wish you'd tell me."

Opposite him sat old Samuels, his head forward, motionless as a graven
image. Between them the new candle, brought for the signing of the
relinquishment, flared and sputtered.

Bob stumbled to his feet.

"Good night," said he.

Samuels neither moved nor stirred. He might have been a figure such as
used to be placed before the entrances of wax works exhibitions, so
still he sat, so fixed were his eyes, so pallid the texture of his
weather-tanned flesh after the vigil.

Bob went out to the verandah. The chill air stirred his blood, set in
motion the run-down machinery of his physical being. From the darkness a
bird chirped loudly. Bob looked up. Over the still, pointed tops of the
trees the sky had turned faintly gray. From the window streamed the
candle light. It seemed unwontedly yellow in contrast to a daylight
that, save by this contrast, was not yet visible. Bob stepped from the
verandah. As he passed the window, he looked in. Samuels had risen to
his feet, and stood rigid, his clenched fist on the table.

At the stable Bob spoke quietly to his animals, saddled them, and led
them out. For some instinctive reason which he could not have explained,
he had decided to be immediately about his journey. The cold gray of
dawn had come, and objects were visible dimly. Bob led his horses to the
edge of the wood. There he mounted. When well within the trees he looked
back. Samuels stood on the edge of the verandah, peering out into the
uncertain light of the dawn. From the darkness of the trees Bob made out
distinctly the white of his mane-like hair and the sweep of his
patriarchal beard. Across the hollow of his left arm he carried his
shotgun.

Bob touched spur to his saddle horse and vanished in the depths of the
forest.

XV

Bob delivered his relinquishment at headquarters, and received the news.

George Pollock had been arrested for the murder of Plant, and now lay in
jail. Erbe, the White Oaks lawyer, had undertaken charge of his case.
The evidence was as yet purely circumstantial. Erbe had naturally gi