He wondered if the War Department was able to look itself in the face that morning, remembering the careful charts the colonels had shown him that called for dispersal, concealment, removal of such essential industries as his own. Suppose, they had said gravely, New York should take a bomb; you'd be out of commission; you must move out of the city to where you can be safe, since the production of your shop is of great importance to the country's defense. And they had showed him the maps, marked "Secret," of the instrument plants in Connecticut, the explosives factories in the Delaware valley, the electronics laboratories along the Jersey streams. Two-forty-eight, two-forty-nine, two-fifty. "All right, Dick," he told the golf pro, "you can take over for a while." He surrendered the back end of the stretcher and looked around. "Wait a minute!" he ordered sharply. "What's that up there?" There was a private dirt road slanting down toward them, and something was moving. They all set up a waving and bellowing, and a group of horsemen appeared on the rim of the highway and came toward them, three or four of them, picking their way through the mud. "The United States Cavalry," said Polly Chesbro clearly, "is charging to the rescue." * * * * * Two of the riders were men in chaps and sombreros and the third was a thirteen-year-old girl. They goggled unbelievingly at the litter bearers. They were from a dude ranch up in the hills, and they were on their way to Hebertown to complain because their lights and phone were off. "Jesus! We knew there was some rain last night, but we never had any idea--" The cowboys stared at each other. "How about giving us a hand?" Mickey Groff requested. "This man's in bad shape. If we don't get him to a doctor I don't think he'll make it." The cowboys scratched their heads for a while, and finally Mickey Groff showed them how to sling the stretcher between two of the horses. "Hold them tight and walk them slow," he ordered, putting a cowboy at the head of each horse. "The ladies can take turns riding the other horse, I guess." But he got no customers for that; Mrs. Goudeket was scandalized, and the young girl was too excited, and Polly Chesbro wouldn't get that far from the sick man. Finally Artie Chesbro said off-handedly, "Hell, no sense in _wasting_ the horse." He was in the saddle before anybody could object. It didn't make things good, but it made them better. Mickey Groff, walking ahead, reasoned that he had disposed his forces well. According to the cowboys, they had a good three miles to go on the road--_if_ they could follow the road even approximately. An hour and a half--double it because of the weather--maybe double it again, he thought worriedly, if there were too many detours. He looked back at the motionless figure between the horses. That was stretching it, but there was a chance the old man might hang on that long.