"I can't feel so sanguine as you seem to, Harper. Will you go on?"
"I shall go to Chicago."
"You do not care to remain with me longer?"
Dyke Darrel regarded his friend closely through a cloud of smoke.
"You forget that I left urgent business to keep you company last
night," answered Mr. Elliston, a tinge of rebuke in his voice.
"I do not. You have my hearty thanks for your disinterested kindness,
Harper," returned Dyke Darrel. "If the delay has cost you anything---"
"See here, old chum, don't insult me," cried Elliston, as the
detective drew out a well-filled wallet. "I am able and willing to pay
my own bills, I hope."
"Certainly. I meant no offense."
"It is time we were on the move, Dyke, if we do not wish to miss the
up train."
Dyke Darrel realized the force of his friend's words, and at once made
preparations for departure. A little later the two were on board the
morning express, speeding Northward. Dyke Darrel informed the
conductor of the fate of Sam Swart, the outlaw, but did not intimate
that the fellow was a member of the gang of train robbers, whose deed
of blood had sent a shudder of horror and indignation throughout the
nation.
When the train halted at Black Hollow, the station at which the
terrible crime of a few days previous had been discovered, Dyke Darrel
arose to go.
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