“Poor Jim,” he said hoarsely. “He was a good boy, only full of life. It will be hard on the family.”
“Yes,” Harrison Miller said simply.
But David was resentful, too. When his friends were in trouble he wanted to know about it. He was somewhat indignant and not a little hurt. But he soon reverted to Dick.
“I'll go back and send him off for a rest,” he said. “I'm as good as I'll ever be, and the boy's tired. What's the bee in Wheeler's bonnet?”
“Look here, David, you know your own business best, and Wheeler didn't feel at liberty to tell me very much. But he seemed to think you were the only one who could tell us certain things. He'd have come himself, but it's not easy for him to leave the family just now. Dick went away just after Jim's funeral. He left a young chap named Reynolds in his place, and, I believe, in order not to worry you, some letters to be mailed at intervals.”
“Went where?” David asked, in a terrible voice.
“To a town called Norada, in Wyoming. Near his old home somewhere. And the Wheelers haven't heard anything from him since the day he got there. That's three weeks ago. He wrote Elizabeth the night he got there, and wired her at the same time. There's been nothing since.”
David was gripping the arms of his chair with both hands, but he forced himself to calmness.
“I'll go to Norada at once,” he said. “Get a time-table, Harrison, and ring for the valet.”
“Not on your life you won't. I'm here to do that, when I've got something to go on. Wheeler thought you might have heard from him. If you hadn't, I was to get all the information I could and then start. Elizabeth's almost crazy. We wired the chief of police of Norada yesterday.”