Harvey fingered his cigar. Every new move of Jim's bewildered him. Jim's imperturbability, and his eagerness for a fight where some men would be discouraged, were qualities that Harvey was slow in acquiring. His admiration for Jim amounted almost to reverence. Perhaps had he realized the bitter fighting that was yet to come, if he could have foreseen the part that he was to play with zeal and judgment, he would have been even more bewildered, but Harvey was plucky enough; it needed only the right circumstances to develop him.
“If he does fight,” said Jim, breaking the silence, “if he succeeds in landing on us, why, then, look out for war. I'll put my last cent into M. & T. before I'll give him a chance at it.”
“Is he likely to grab the road?”
“Maybe he'll try. But I'll have five hundred men with guns in his way. I'll tell you, West, I'm not going to give in. I never have yet.”
“No,” said Harvey, thoughtfully, “I don't believe you have.” And he added, “I saw Porter to-night.”
“Where?”
“Up at the Bismarck. McNally was with him.”
“Anybody else?”
“His daughter.”
“Pretty girl, I hear.”