"He made up his mind in a hurry. Just took a sudden notion to go."

"Without saying anything about his suitcases?"

"Never mentioned 'em."

"You didn't have--any trouble with him?" she faltered.

"Not a bit," he told her genially. "Sorry our tickets take us by
different roads to New York. Maybe we'll meet up with each other
there, Miss Kitty."

"I don't understand it," she murmured, half to herself. "Why would he
get off before we reach the depot?"

She was full of suspicions, and the bruise on the Westerner's cheek did
not tend to allay them. They were still unsatisfied when the porter
took her to the end of the car to brush her clothes.

The discretion of that young man had its limits. While he brushed the
girl he told her rapidly what he had seen in the vestibule.

"Was he hurt?" she asked breathlessly.

"No 'm. I looked out and seen him standin' beside the track j'es'
a-cussin' a blue streak. He's a sho-'nough bad actor, that Jerry
Durand."

Kitty marched straight to her section. The eyes of the girl flashed
anger.