Desperately, he resumed his trip, traveling by air and then by train, and finally grasping at any means of transportation that happened to be most convenient. The cold traveled with him. It enveloped him like a shell. It was an invisible prison, shutting him away from the world of warmth. The climate grew increasingly mild and balmy as he progressed southward. But the chill that always surrounded him grew worse. More often, now, he thought of Cahill's grim promise. "_I'm going to get you. I'm going to make you pay._" It repeated itself over and over in his mind. It was emphasized by the invisible blanket of cold wrapped inescapably about him. Once, in a hotel room where he had been drinking steadily, Hager's despair rose in him to the point of madness. He leaped from the bed, hurling an empty whisky bottle against the wall, screaming mingled curses and entreaties. "Damn you, Cahill, leave me alone! Haven't you had enough? How much longer are you going to keep torturing me? Leave me alone, do you hear? Leave me alone!" Cahill didn't seem to hear. Or if he did, he paid no attention. The cold stayed. * * * * * Hager began to lose weight. His stocky figure became gaunt, his cheeks sunken. Dark hollows cupped his feverishly bright eyes. His hands trembled. He jerked nervously at sudden noises. In Los Angeles he yielded to a wild impulse and visited a doctor. He explained his symptoms, omitting their true cause, and pleaded for help. The doctor gave him a complete physical examination, though it was evident from the man's expression of perplexity that he had learned nothing. "I can't understand it," he told Hager. "There's nothing seriously wrong with you. All you need is plenty of food and rest. You're probably just imagining things." Hager groaned, paid his bill, and fled. Several days later found him in Mexico. It was warm--but he didn't feel it. He knew with a terrible certainty that he would never feel warmth again. And he was tired of futilely trying to escape something from which there was no escape. He rented a small house on the outskirts of a town far from the Border and hired an elderly Mexican named Pancho to attend to his needs. Pancho was a good servant. But he was evidently greatly puzzled by Hager. According to the stories Pancho told his cronies in the town, his _gringo_ master insisted that a hot fire be kept going constantly in the fireplace. And in this warm weather, too! As if that alone wasn't enough, the _gringo_ also kept himself wrapped thickly in blankets. It was all very strange. The _gringo_, he said, was being tormented by a demon. The people of the town, a simple folk to whom the supernatural was as real as the sun in the sky, were sympathetic. A priest at the church promptly volunteered his aid. He had, as Pancho subsequently explained to Hager when he appeared with the man, an enviable reputation for his skill in exorcizing devils and evil spirits.