lips.
“Shall I tell you why your hand went to your breast when I first mentioned that the train was going to be held up, and again when your father's eyes were firing a mighty pointed question at you?”
“I don't know what you mean,” she retorted, again mistress of herself.
Her gallant bearing compelled his admiration. The scornful eyes, the satirical lift of the nostrils, the erect, graceful figure, all flung a challenge at him. He called himself hard names for putting her on the rack, but the necessity to make her believe in him was strong within him.
“I noticed you went right chalky when I announced the hold-up, and I thought it was because you were scared. That was where I did you an injustice, ma'am, and you can call this an apology. You've got sand. If it hadn't been for what you carry in the chamois skin hanging on the chain round your neck you would have enjoyed every minute of the little entertainment. You're as game as they make them.”
“May I ask how you arrived at this melodramatic conclusion?” she asked, her disdainful lip curling.
“By using my eyes and my ears, ma'am. I shouldn't have noticed your likeness to Major Mackenzie, perhaps, if I hadn't observed that there was a secret understanding between you. Now, whyfor should you be passing as strangers? I could guess one reason, and only one. There have twice been attempted hold-ups of the paymaster of the Yuba reservoir. It was to avoid any more of these that Major Mackenzie took charge personally of paying the men. He has made good up till now. But there have been rumors for months that he would be held up either before leaving the train or while he was crossing the desert. He didn't want to be seen taking the boodle from the express company at Tucson. He would rather have the impression get out that this was just a casual visit. It occurred to him to bring along some unsuspected party to help him out. The robbers would never expect to find the money on a woman. That's why the major brought his daughter with him. Doesn't it make you some uneasy to be carrying fifty thousand in small bills sewed in your clothes and hung round your neck?”
She broke into musical laughter, natural and easy. “I don't happen to have fifty thousand with me.”
“Oh, well, say forty thousand. I'm no wizard to guess the exact figure.”
Her swift glance at him was almost timid.
“Nor forty thousand,” she murmured.
“I should think, ma'am, you'd crinkle more than a silk-lined lady sailing down a church aisle on Sunday.”
A picture in the magazine she was toying with seemed to interest her.
“I expect that's the signal for 'Exit Collins.' I'll say good-by till next time, Miss Mackenzie.”
“Oh, is there going to be a next time?” she asked, with elaborate carelessness.
“Several of them.”
“Indeed!”
He took a notebook from his pocket and wrote.
“I ain't the son of a prophet, but I'm venturing a prediction,” he explained.
She had nothing to say, and she said it competently.
“Concerning an investment in futurities I'm making,” he continued.
Her magazine article seemed to be beginning, well.
“It's a little guess about how this train robbery is coming out. If you don't mind, I'll leave it with you.” He tore the page out, put it in an empty envelope, sealed the flap, and handed it to her.
“Open it in a month, and see whether my guess is a good one.”
The dusky lashes swept round indolently. “Suppose I were to open it to-night.”
“I'll risk it,” smiled the blue eyes.
“On honor, am I?”
“That's it.” He held out a big, brown hand.
“You're going to try to capture the robbers, are you?”
“I've been thinking that way—with the help of Lieutenant Bucky O'Connor, I mean.”
“And I suppose you've promised yourself success.”
“It's on the knees of chance, ma'am. We may get them. They may get us.”
“But this prediction of yours?” She held up the sealed envelope.
“That's about another matter.”
“But I don't understand. You said—” She gave him a chance to explain.
“It ain't meant you should. You'll understand plenty at the proper time.”
He offered her his hand again. “We're slowing down for Apache. Good-by—till next time.”
The suede glove came forward, and was buried in his handshake.
He understood it to be an unvoiced apology of its owner for her suspicions, and his instinct was correct. For how could her doubts hold their ground when he had showed himself a sharer in her secret and a guardian of it? And how could anything sinister lie behind those frank, unwavering eyes or consist with that long, clean stride that was carrying him so forcefully to the vestibule?
At Apache no telegrams were found waiting for those who had been expecting them. Communication with the division superintendent at Tucson uncovered the fact that no message of the hold-up had yet reached him. It was an easy guess for Collins to find the reason.
“We're in the infant class, major,” he told Mackenzie, with a sardonic laugh. “Leroy must have galloped down the line direct to the station after the hold-up. Likely enough he went into the depot just as we went out. That gives him the other hour or two he needs to make his getaway with the loot. Well, it can't be helped now. If I can only reach Bucky there's one chance in fifty he can head them off from crossing into Sonora. Soon as I can get together a posse I'll take up the trail from the point of the hold-up. But they'll have a whole night's start on me. That's a big handicap.”
From Apache Collins sent three dispatches. One was to his deputy, Dillon, at Tucson. It read:
“Get together at once posse of four and outfit same for four days.”
Another went to Sabin, the division superintendent:
“Order special to carry posse with horses from Tucson to Big Gap. Must leave by midnight. Have track clear.”
The third was a notification to Lieutenant O'Connor, of the Arizona Rangers, of the hold-up, specifying time and place of the occurrence. The sheriff knew it was not necessary to add that the bandits were probably heading south to get into Sonora. Bucky would take that for granted and do his best to cover the likely spots of the frontier.
It was nearly eleven when the Limited drew in to Tucson. Sabin was on the platform anxiously awaiting their arrival. Collins reached him even before the conductor.
“Ordered the special, Mr. Sabin?” he asked, in a low voice.
The railroad man was chewing nervously on an unlit cigar. “Yes, sheriff. You want only an engine and one car, I suppose.”
“That will be enough. I've got to go uptown now and meet Dillon. Midnight sharp, please.”
“Do you know how much they got?” Sabin whispered.
“Thirty thousand, I hear, besides what they took from the passengers. The conductor will tell you all about it. I've got to jump to be ready.”
A disappointment awaited him in the telegrapher's room at the depot. He found a wire, but not from the person he expected. The ranger in charge at Douglas said that Lieutenant O'Connor was at Flag staff, but pending that officer's return he would put himself under the orders of Sheriff Collins and wait for instructions.
The sheriff whistled softly to himself and scratched his head. Bucky would not have waited for instructions. By this time that live wire would have finished telephoning all