The Sheriff's Son
left David Dingwell to his fate, he could never look at himself again in the glass without knowing that he was facing a dastard.
The trouble was that he had too much imagination. As a child he had conjured dragons out of the darkness that had no existence except in his hectic fancy. So it was now. He had only to give his mind play to see himself helpless in the hands of the Rutherfords.
But he was essentially stanch and generous. Fate had played him a scurvy trick in making him a trembler, but he knew it was not in him to turn his back on Dingwell. No matter how much he might rebel and squirm he would have to come to time in the end.
After a wretched afternoon he hunted up Ryan at his hotel.
"When do you want me to start?" he asked sharply.
The little cowpuncher was sitting in the lobby reading a newspaper. He took one look at the harassed youth and jumped up.
"Say, you 're all right. Put her there."
Royal's cold hand met the rough one of Ryan. The shrewd eyes of the Irishman judged the other.
"I knew youse could n't be a quitter and
72
