mention of the girl's name, he
felt himself better equipped to understand both the lack of immediate
action and the seeming preoccupied indifference of his superior which, in
the face of the night's developments, would have been otherwise utterly
unaccountable that morning.

There had been more than one instance of gross neglect and misinterpreted
orders, particularly in the last week or so, that might have resulted
disastrously if luck had not been with them; but Fat Joe had been unable
to convince the chief engineer of the East Coast Company that their
repetition was in any way a thing of sinister import. Steve had merely
smiled at his dogged belief in a veiled campaign of opposition, blaming
the minor catastrophes upon blundering incompetence which they could hope
to combat by unflagging vigilance alone. And now, when the finding of
the roll of estimates upon the floor and the blood clotted crease in
Garry Devereau's forehead made further argument superfluous, his
listlessness would have left Fat Joe alarmed had it not been for a
recollection of the light he had glimpsed in Steve's eyes at the
beginning of their sudden and unexplained return to camp the night
before, and his brooding silence on the road. At the mention of Barbara
Allison's name it all recurred to Joe in nicely balanced and comforting
sequence. Fat Joe confessed shamelessly to a romantic soul. And it
helped him now to choose his own course of action, even though he had,
for once, misread the other's mood.

For if Steve had not forgotten the picture which Garry Devereau had made,
robed and cowled and areel in the saddle, any more than he could ever
hope to forget the slim, shimmering figure who had shrunk back against
him in panic, there in the shadow of the hedge, both pictures had
momentarily given way to an even more vivid memory. He was thinking of
Miriam Burrell's face and her last words to him: "I have heard, Mr.
O'Mara, that you have once or twice fought your way out of the dark, when
everybody else had lost hope. I want an opportunity to talk with--a
specialist in such campaigns!"

The probable nearness of him who had gone bounding away empty-handed from
the lighted shack was of far less moment than the possible identity of
the one who had furnished the inspiration of that night raid. And to
Steve the need of assuring that tall girl with the vivid lips and coppery
hair of Garry Devereau's safety bulked quite as important as did the
a