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Updated: June 23, 2025
Lanning was leaning from his corner looking at Quarles. "Steady," said the professor. "If your hand does not from your pocket come in one blink of an eye you are a dead man. This is a big matter." Quarles had covered him with a revolver, and following his lead I covered Nixon. For a moment it was a tableau, not a sound nor a movement in the carriage.
To Andy Lanning, as fear whipped him north out of Martindale, there seemed no pleasure or safety in the world except in the speed of his horse and the whir of the air against his face. When that speed faltered he went to the quirt. He spurred mercilessly. Yet he had ridden his horse out to a stagger before he reached old Sullivan's place.
The stake, indeed, was eight solid trains of perishable freight, and the gambler that had staked their value and his reputation on one throw of the dice was their own easy-mannered guide. They discussed his chances with the indifference of spectators. Doctor Lanning, the only one of the young people that had ever done anything himself, was inclined to think Glover might win out.
From some remarks Lanning had let fall he concluded that some important development had occurred in the stabilizing of flying machines a matter his employers were interested in and he had watched his friend's movements.
He did not even lose his high standing because he would not hunt Andrew alone. He always kept a group with him, and people said that he was wise to do it. Not because he was not a match for Andrew Lanning singlehanded, but because it was folly to risk life when there were odds which might be used against the desperado.
It reminded Charles of the picture he had seen when he broke into her room after Andrew Lanning had escaped. And she looked now, as, then, more beautiful, more wholly to be desired than he had ever known her before. Yet he could neither move nor speak. He saw her go out of the room. Then, without stopping to replace the sheet, he followed.
"And, if they raise you, I think they'll find you've more iron hidden away in you than I have. But the way they'll find it out will be in an explosion that will wipe them out. You've got to handle them without that explosion, Lanning. Can you do it?" The younger man moistened his lips. "I think this job is going to prove worth while," he returned. "Very well, then.
The others kept up a running fire of comments and questions, but Larry la Roche, as though he had never forgiven Andrew for their first quarrel, remained with his long, bony chin dropped upon his breast and followed the movements of Andrew Lanning with restless eyes.
Here the second John Merchant lived with his son Charles, whose taste had quite outgrown the house. But to the uneducated eye of Andrew Lanning it was a great and dignified building. He reined the pinto under the trees to look up at that tall, black mass.
"Where?" asked Lanning, still laughing. "There, in that big portmanteau." And Quarles pointed to one on the rack above Nixon's head. I was only just in time to bring my weapon down on Nixon's wrist as he whipped out his revolver. "Hold him, Wigan; he is dangerous," said Quarles, speaking in his natural voice. "We will have a look in that portmanteau, Mr. Lanning."
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