“Yes,” said McNally, “they ripped into us at Sawyerville and we had the hell of a time till Wray's guards came up and stopped it. Wray let me through,—it was just after daylight,—and I picked up a horse from a farmer and rode down. But we got West though, damn him!—caught him sneaking through the bushes.”
“Be careful, McNally, we've got to be careful. It's no time to get mixed up in a thing like that—we—we can't afford—”
“That's all right, Porter. We don't know where he is—I don't know, you don't know—and before we find out he'll be loose again.”
“But—Jim—Weeks don't forget that kind of thing, McNally—Jim Weeks—”
“Oh, damn Jim Weeks! I'll take care of him.”
Porter paused to drink at a gulp what was left of his coffee.
“Remember, McNally, I can't back you if you get careless—I can't back you, you know.”
“God, man! you've got to back me! You've got to back me through everything, or you'll go down with me. I tell you, Porter, we're too far in to back out, and it's nerve that's going to win. If you don't back me, if you don't draw on every cent you've got to shove it through, you'll be the one to be hit—not me.” He paced the floor. “Yes, sir. It's you if it's anybody.” Suddenly he stopped. He looked hard at Porter, then he turned quickly and strode into the office. Katherine was standing at the window.
“Miss Katherine—”
“Mr. McNally, my name is Miss Porter.”