He was none too soon. The huge snake of the Santa Fe Limited was crawling and writhing in its slow start for the distant desert. Without a glance behind, without a second’s pause, O’Hara leaped from the Ford, and in two steps he reached the handrail and swung onto the rear platform of the Limited.
His journey had begun.
As Lonsdale’s slowed up beside the punctured machine, Mary Louise popped her head out of the door.
“Well, of all things,” shouted the Chief of Police, as Danny Dexter’s head appeared beside the girl’s. “Why in thunder didn’t you stop when you heard the honking? The thunder hasn’t deafened you, has it?”
“Honking?” gently inquired Mary Louise. “Honking?” echoed Danny in dignified inquiry.
A grim smile twitched the corners of Lonsdale’s mouth as he looked at the softened, preoccupied expressions of the two of them.
“Yes, honking,” he mimicked them; then hastened to add, “but only honking loud enough to raise the dead.”
At this point Colonel Hathaway managed to extricate himself from the robes and the sou’wester which engulfed him, and had come around to Mary Louise’s side. At sight of him she gave a little cry of joy and concern.
“Oh, Grandpa Jim, dear Grandpa Jim, you’ve been out in all this storm to hunt me,” she said, as she flung her arms tenderly about his neck.