Porter sighed wearily; but he said, “My dear, if Jim Weeks is coming down the line, something is sure to happen.”
“Do you think he's on the train himself?” she asked.
McNally looked up quickly. It was not the question, but something that the question suggested to him, that made him say:—
“Probably not. We think young West is in charge of the gang.”
Katherine's hands were still clasped over her father's eyes, and McNally took the opportunity this afforded him to accompany his words with a meaning look that was insolent in its intentness. In spite of herself Katherine felt the blood mounting into her cheeks and forehead, and McNally, seeing the blush, made no effort to conceal his smile. Katherine did not flinch from his gaze, but returned it squarely. Dropping her hands to her father's shoulders, she said steadily:—
“I suppose he is on the train. He likes that sort of thing. Of course Mr. McNally will lead our forlorn hope when it starts out.”
She smiled as she said it, for he winced under the thrust.
He rose hurriedly, and as he moved toward the door he spoke to Porter.
“I've got some business to attend to with Wilkins. I'll be back soon.”
When he had left the room Porter turned to Katherine.