He held a brief conversation over the wire, snapped down the receiver, sprang to a wardrobe for his hat and stick and hurried from the house.
The dullness that a sleepless night had left in his eyes had disappeared. The fear that had shaken him ever since the uncanny reappearance of Harry and Pauline was dissipated, or at least concealed by a new hope—a new plan of destruction.
He knew only that Pauline was going away and that she must be followed —no matter whither her whims might lead.
Hicks was seated in a corner of the rendezvous drinking whiskey and water. He was plainly in a black mood.
"You got a pretty fat roll yesterday, Hicks. But," Owen drew out his wallet, "here is a little. Get yourself ready to make a trip tomorrow. I'll let you know the time and the train."
Hicks looked covetously at the bills, but he demurred: "You mean we're after them two again!"
"Hicks, we must be after them because one of them will soon be after us."
"Where they goin' now?"
"Rockvale, Montana. That is, the girl's going. What I haven't found out yet is whether Harry goes, too. If he stays here, I'll stay, and you'll go West."
"After Pauline?"