"I can't call in the police," replied George, miserable.
"Shall I tell you why?"
"Dearest, can't you understand that it is you I am thinking of?"
"I am determined. If I do not go with you, you shall never see me again. My mother is there!"
Tragedy. Mrs. Mortimer stretched out a hand, but the girl did not see it. Her mother; her own flesh and blood! Oh, the poor child!
"Come, then," said George, in despair. "But you are hurting me, Fortune."
"Forgive me, but I must go with you. I must!"
"Get me the revolvers, Mr. Mortimer. We'll wait for Wadsworth. Will you please telephone him? I'm afraid I couldn't talk steadily enough. Explain nothing save that it concerns his bank."
George sat down. Not during those early days of the journey across the desert had he felt so pitiably weak and inefficient.