“Hello, Cady, old chap!” he exclaimed. “You’re right on time to-night, all right. Here’s Jack Dakin, track hand, who will ride with you to Shelby. He missed the last local. You don’t know him, I reckon, but he’s all right.”
“Ride with me?” questioned Cady, sharply regarding both.
He was a well-built man of middle age, of sandy complexion, and wearing a full beard. He was clad in blouse and overalls, with a woolen cap pulled over his brow.
Nick did not wait for him to make any objections. He grasped the edge of the door and drew himself up from the platform, saying quietly, while he entered the car:
“It’s all right, Cady. I’ve got a letter to you from President Burdick. Don’t oppose me. Pretend this is nothing unusual.”
Cady seemed to grasp the situation. A fiery gleam appeared for a moment in the depths of his gray eyes, but he drew back to make room for Nick, replying, in quick whispers:
“What’s up? There’s nothing wrong, is there?”
“Wait until we leave here. Don’t question,” cautioned Nick.
“It’s all right, Cady,” Denny quickly assured him, leaning in through the open door.
“Good enough, then,” Cady nodded. “I’ll take your word for it, Tom.”