“And he has a companion,” added Tavia. “Good gracious, if I ever saw a desperado, Dorothy Dale, that man is it!”
Interested in spite of herself by Tavia’s description, Dorothy turned her head and beheld two men approaching down the car aisle, lurching as the train lurched.
One was the tall, dark, good-looking stranger who Tavia had vulgarly declared was “bowled over” by Dorothy’s beauty. His companion could not have been more completely his opposite. A short, squat fellow with a flat face and sharp black eyes, he looked for all the world like a bird of prey, ready to snatch at his victim.
Dorothy, as she shudderingly appraised the man, was glad she was not to be his victim. The next moment she was laughing at her melodramatic thoughts.
“Probably a traveling salesman or something equally innocuous,” she whispered, as the two men passed close to them.
“He’s a desperado,” Tavia reiterated stubbornly. “You mark my words—that fellow will come to no good end—”
At that moment it seemed as if they all were to come to a very bad end indeed.
There came a deafening crash and the car in which Dorothy and Tavia sat seemed to rear up in the middle, like a balky horse.
“Good gracious, hold on to me, Doro!” shrieked Tavia. “It’s the end of the world!”