“Maybe Mr. Estrada?” she hazarded.
“He is not here, he went down the road to look after the track. Hardin went off in such a hurry, I guess he told nobody,” chuckled the engineer, still glowing.
“Then I’m it!” cried Innes Hardin. “Will you take my orders, Silent?”
“Sure,” he chuckled again.
“Send George Whitaker home. And not to report till to-morrow morning. Say Hardin said so. You needn’t say which Hardin.”
She pinned up her blown hair, the wind fighting her. Her thoughts would accuse Tom! Perhaps the apparent confusion was all well ordered; perhaps this was the way men worked when the need was desperate, when homes were at stake! Yet, there was Tom racing across the country when a lieutenant would have done as well. Was he losing his grip? The earthquake episode had frightened her. She knew he lacked discipline, of school, and gentle home-training. The struggle with the wilderness had absorbed his parents. She knew he was oversanguine, careless of details, careless of the means to his ends. Perhaps it was because she was a woman, and fearful, and saw things in a womanish way. Perhaps all strong men, men who achieved great results, attacked them as Tom did. The daring chance, for Tom always. A corner to be turned, he must always take the sharpest curve. If he were as reckless with other people’s lives as he was with his own—
The voice of Silent was in her ear. “He is gone. I’ve sent him home.”
The yellow eyes gleamed prankishly in the half light. “Will you take more orders from me, Silent?”
“You’re the captain!”
“I saw Mr. Dowker down there. His wife is sick. Send him home, say Hardin said so.”