Despondent recklessness tightened Kirkwood's lips and kindled an unpleasant light in his eyes. He touched his side pocket; Calendar's revolver was still there.... Dorothy should win away clear, if—if he swung for it.
He bent forward with the traveling bag in his hands.
"What are you going to do?" The girl's voice was very tremulous.
"Stand a chance, take a losing hazard. Can you run? You're not too tired?"
"I can run—perhaps not far—a little way, at least."
"And will you do as I say?"
Her eyes met his, unwavering, bespeaking her implicit faith.
"Promise!"
"I promise."
"We'll have to drop off in a minute. The horse won't last.... They're in the same box. Well, I undertake to stand 'em off for a bit; you take the bag and run for it. Just as soon as I can convince them, I'll follow, but if there's any delay, you call the first cab you see and drive to the Pless. I'll join you there."