The lad suddenly went white.
“Tell me. Have they caught Uncle Jim?” he demanded, gripping her arm as though to drag the information from her quickly.
“No, no,” Mary Louise reassured him. “But they know he was on the train, and as it slowed down at Albuquerque he jumped off and disappeared. Josie and Crocker have both gone after him. I’m so sorry,” she added, her hand touching his, which still gripped her arm with unconscious force.
Danny’s fingers relaxed and he returned the warm handclasp of understanding and sympathy. “I know you are sorry, and it helps a lot.”
Then he jumped to his feet and squared his shoulders. “But now I must do something. I must help him.”
“Sit down again,” commanded Mary Louise.
“Don’t you see, Danny, we can’t do anything till we first think out our plans.”
“You’re right, of course,” reluctantly admitted Danny, as he sank down on the rustic bench. Even in his confusion, that comforting little “we” penetrated his tired thought.
“Now, first,” continued Mary Louise, “where is your uncle likely to go on foot?”
“Well,” replied Danny, thinking out his ideas as he said them, “I imagine he’d strike out for the border. You see, he’s lived down there a lot. He made his money in the oil wells there, and if the Huns in Mexico hadn’t tried to stop England’s oil supply, he’d have had the money to make good his deficit and all this would never have happened.”