After the return to the car, the interesting stories were resumed, and Bob had little opportunity to notice the region through which he was passing, new and unusual to him as was its scenery, save when his attention was called to some striking feature by his companion.

"It won't be long now before we reach Chicago," remarked the man.

"No, I suppose not," admitted Bob with a sigh. "I only wish you were going out to Fairfax with me."

"Oh, well, you'll find, more likely than not, that some of the passengers on the train you take are bound for Oklahoma, and they will probably be able to afford you more assistance and information than I."

The suggestion made by Bob about returning to Oklahoma seemed to make a deep impression upon the stranger, and he lapsed into silence from which he only roused himself after the train had pulled into the station at Chicago, when he jumped up suddenly, grabbed Bob by the shoulder, shook him with a gentle roughness, and murmured:

"Good luck to you, boy, and whatever you do, be straight," and rushed from the car, leaving Bob bewildered by the abruptness of his departure.

Despite the evident mystery which hung over his travelling companion, Bob had felt more at ease when he was with him, and it was with a sense of loss that he saw him leave the car, for the boy had hoped that he would accompany him to the railway offices while he got his pass, and he had even dared to think he might be able to persuade him to make the visit to Mrs. Cameron with him.

But the man's departure had shattered his hopes, and Bob, with a feeling of great loneliness, mechanically followed the other passengers from the car out upon the wide platform. His feeling of isolation was made even more poignant by the hearty greetings which sounded all around him, as one after another of the people who had arrived on the same train were met by their friends or families.

Following the crowd, he passed through the station out onto the sidewalk. There he stood for a moment, searching the windows of the buildings across the street for the name of the railway offices to which Mr. Perkins had directed him.

With little difficulty he spied great gilt letters which formed the words "Grand Pacific Railway," and picking his way carefully through the throng of carriages, automobiles and trucks, which were passing up and down the street, he soon reached the building, and was on the way to the offices in the elevator.

Entering one of the doors, he beheld several handsomely polished desks, at which busy men were seated.

Who the proper person was to whom to present his card for a pass, Bob did not know, but after scrutinizing the faces of the various men in the office, he selected one who seemed kind and pleasant, and was making his way toward him, when he was confronted by a boy several inches smaller than he was, clad in a green uniform trimmed with gold braid, who demanded insolently:

"Here, you! Where do you think you are going? Who do you want to see?"

"I don't know exactly."

During this interchange of words, the office-boy had been scanning Bob and his threadbare clothes contemptuously. And at the lad's reply, he laughed outright, adding:

"Well, if you don't know who you want to see, you can't come in here."

"But I want to get a pass for Fairfax, Oklahoma," protested Bob.

"You get a pass! Say, are you crazy? Only the general managers and the other high officers travel on passes."

"But Mr. Perkins told me to come here," asserted Bob.

To what lengths this determination of the office-boy to get rid of Bob would have gone there is no knowing, for the official whose desk was nearest the railing in front of which Bob stood had been attracted by the unusual occurrence, and as he heard Mr. Perkins' name spoken, he got up, and beckoning to Bob, asked:

"What did you say about Mr. Perkins?"

"I said he told me to come here to get a pass to Fairfax, Oklahoma. That is, he didn't say Fairfax," added Bob truthfully, "he just said I was to get it to any place in Oklahoma where I wanted to go, and I have decided I want to go to Fairfax."

"What is your name?"

"Bob Chester."

"Well, Mr. Perkins has sent us no instructions for issuing you a pass, and until he does, we cannot do anything for you."

And turning on his heel the man walked back to his desk, while the office-boy grinned in delight.

Bob, however, was not to be disposed of so easily, and putting his hand in his pocket, he drew out the card given him by the railroad president, and said:

"But Mr. Perkins gave me instructions to give to you."

The man who had left his desk before paid no attention to Bob's remark, however, and the boy was wondering if, after all, the card would be of no service to him when suddenly the door opened and in walked the porter who had drawn upon himself the anger of the railroad president, the night before, by his treatment of Bob.

As the darky entered, one of the clerks happened to be passing the rail, and he exclaimed:

"Well, Thomas Jefferson, what do you want here?"

"Ah come to get my pay. Ah done been discharged."

"You discharged?" repeated the other incredulously.

"That's what, and by the 'old man' hisself."

"Why?"

"For not treating this hyar gemmen wid de respec' Mr. Perkins thought I ought to when he set hisself down in my parlah cyar, when his ticket done call for the chair cyar."

The tone in which the porter made his reply was so loud that no one in the office could fail to hear it, and as the officials had already received instructions by wire to pay off the darky in full upon his arrival, when they learned that the shabbily-clad boy standing before the rail was the cause of the discharge, they evinced a very lively interest in him.

"The kid was just up here trying to get a pass he said Mr. Perkins had told him to call for," returned the man who had dismissed Bob so abruptly.

"If the gemmen says so, den you'd better give it to him, if you-all don't want to get what Ah got."

Deeming the time had come for again calling attention to his card, Bob exclaimed:

"Mr. Perkins told me I was to present this, when I asked for the pass."

Reaching out his hand for the piece of pasteboard, the man who had refused him before, scanned it hurriedly, and said:

"You should have given me this in the first place. You see, we don't issue many passes now, and we are obliged to be very careful." And, calling to one of his clerks, he gave him instructions for making out the pass to Fairfax, after having learned from Bob that that was the destination to which he wished to go.

"You'd better sit down," said the official, "because it will take a few minutes to get it ready."

Bob was not thinking of himself, however. The idea troubled him of the porter's being discharged on his account, and after a few moments' deliberation, he called to the man who had given the instructions for the writing of his pass, and asked:

"Do you think if I should write a note to Mr. Perkins, that he would change his mind about discharging this man? I don't like to think he should have got into trouble on my account. You see, I don't know much about travelling, and I didn't know a parlor car from a chair car."

Surprised at this consideration for a fellow in a boy so young, the official smiled as he replied:

"I shouldn't be surprised if Mr. Perkins would think about it, if you asked him. He seems to have taken a great fancy to you."

"Then if you will give me a piece of paper, I will write to him."

And when the writing material was provided, Bob, in his crude, boyish hand, wrote:

"MR. PERKINS: You have been very kind to me, but I am sorry you discharged the porter. I wish you would take him back. Please, Mr. Perkins. From your friend, BOB CHESTER."

In open-mouthed wonder, the porter listened to the conversation between Bob and the official of the railway, and when the note had been written, and was read aloud by the latter, the darky exclaimed:

"Mistah Bob, you sho'ly am kind. Ah'll take that note and go to see Mistah Perkins mahself, and now if you-all would like to see Chicago a little before you take your train, Ah'll surely be most glad to take you 'round."



CHAPTER XI

BOB FAILS TO FIND MRS. CAMERON

For a moment after the porter's offer to act as his guide in seeing Chicago, Bob thought he would accept it, and accordingly they left the office together, the pass having been made out and delivered to the boy.

When they appeared upon the street, however, the passersby stopped and stared at the curious pair—Bob, in his worn, ill-fitting suit, and the darky, very black, clad in the latest fashion—with amazement.

One woman, whose hair was tinged with gray, and whose aquiline features, severe clothes and general mien bespoke the spinster who always had time to meddle in other people's affairs, exclaimed to the person nearest her:

"There is certainly something wrong here. I feel it in my bones. That colored person is taking this boy somewhere for no good purpose. I think it is my duty to interfere."

"Oh, I wouldn't bother," returned the member of the throng whom she had addressed. "The boy seems to be going along willingly enough."

"But I think it is my duty to make sure," persisted the officious spinster. "My conscience will never be easy in the thought that perhaps if I had spoken, I might have saved the boy from some terrible fate."

During this conversation, Bob and the porter had walked almost half a block. But both of them had heard the first remarks, and as the would-be rescuer set out in pursuit of them, Bob chanced to look back, and saw her coming, followed by several of the crowd who had first stopped to watch them in the hopes that they might be afforded some amusement from the woman's interference.

Unwilling to become the cause of a street scene, Bob turned to his companion, and said:

"I—I guess, after all, it won't be necessary for me to trouble you to go about with me."

"It will be no trouble, and Ah sho' am willing to do most anything for you 'count o' that note you gave me for Massa Perkins."

"Oh, that's all right," hastily returned Bob. "I was glad to do it. I only hope that it will be successful in letting you get back your job."

"Ah think it will, but Chicago's a pretty big place, and Ah'm afraid something may happen to you so that you will miss your train. It goes in about four hours. Is there any place particular you want to go?"

"Yes, I was going out to South 101st Street."

And Bob described the location of the apartment house where he expected to find Mrs. Cameron, the sister of the waitress who had been so kind to him.

"Then you want to take this cyar. It runs right by the corner, and when you come back, you keep on it until you get to the Northwestern station, where you get your train."

"All right, thank you!" exclaimed Bob, going out into the street to hail the car that had been pointed out to him.

The porter stood on the curb, evidently with the intention of seeing that Bob got aboard without mishap, until turning his head he caught sight of the sharp-featured woman, whose comment he had overheard.

"Ma soul, Ah sure don't want to get in any argument with such a woman," he muttered to himself, and bolted precipitately, soon losing himself in the crowd of pedestrians.

The flight of the porter seemed to confirm the woman's suspicions, but she instantly realized that she could not hope to overtake the darky, and quickly determined to hail Bob.

Rushing into the street, she cried in a shrill voice:

"Little boy! Little boy!"

Bob, however, had no relish for an interview with her, and quickly mounted the steps of the car and entered.

Again the woman repeated her cry, but Bob paid no attention, and it was with great relief that he heard the conductor pull the signal-bell for the car to start.

Determined not to be thwarted, the woman cried:

"Mr. Conductor! Mr. Conductor! Stop that car!"

But that individual had developed a deafness as sudden as Bob's and the car continued on its way.

For a moment the woman, her philanthropic intentions balked, stood on the car track, but realizing that she was making a spectacle of herself, she returned to the sidewalk, where the gibing comments of those who had witnessed the scene caused her to blush with anger, and she was glad to escape the words of advice that were called out to her by entering the doors of a convenient store.

As soon as Bob found that his escape had been effected, he returned to the platform.

"I'm glad you didn't stop the car for that woman," said he to the conductor.

"What's the matter, are you running away from her?"

"No. I never saw her before."

"Then why did she call you to stop?" asked the conductor, his tone indicating that he thought perhaps Bob might have picked her pocket.

"I don't know. When I was walking along with that colored man, I heard her say she thought he was trying to take me somewhere I shouldn't go."

Bob's evident lack of familiarity with Chicago and the circumstances under which he had boarded the car, aroused the conductor's curiosity, and he inquired:

"Well, was he?"

"No, he had just offered to show me about Chicago."

And then Bob told enough of the story to convince the street-car man that there was nothing improper about the occurrence, and that he succeeded was evidenced by the comment of the conductor, as he said:

"That's just like some women, always meddling in things they don't know anything about. I'll tell you when you get to 101st street."

Bob was deeply interested in the scenes through which he was passing, and it seemed to him that he had scarcely been on the car ten minutes when the conductor told him he had reached the street he desired.

Leaving the car, Bob walked to the sidewalk, and then looked about him to get his bearings.

Across the street stood the yellow brick apartment house the waitress had mentioned, and as it was the only building of its kind thereabout, he made his way to it.

Entering the vestibule, Bob scanned the names on the letter boxes for that of Mrs. John Cameron, but though he looked them over three times, he could not see it.

As he stood wondering what to do, a woman opened the door to come out.

Deciding that she was probably one of the people who lived in the building, Bob asked, taking off his hat, and bowing politely:

"Can you tell me if Mrs. John Cameron lives here?"

"No, she doesn't."

"Well, she used to, didn't she?"

"Yes, right across the hall from me, on the third floor, but she moved about six weeks ago."

"Do you know where she's gone?" cried Bob.

"She's moved to Kansas City, but I don't know her address. Is there anything particular you wanted of her?"

"No—that is, I just had a message to deliver to her from her sister in New York."

"Well, I'm sorry that I can't give you the address in Kansas City. You might find it out, though, from the janitor, possibly," added the woman, and smiling at Bob, she continued on her way.

For a moment Bob was undecided whether or not to ring for the janitor in order that he might inquire about the address of the waitress' sister, and then realizing that there was no necessity for his so doing, he concluded to go to the station and wait for his train.

"It's a mighty good thing I met Mr. Perkins," said Bob to himself, as he rode back downtown on the street-car. "If I hadn't, I suppose I would have been obliged to go to work until I could get enough money to take me to Oklahoma, and it would have been an awful disappointment not to find Mrs. Cameron. But it's all right now; besides, I'm better off than I would have been if she had been here, because I have a pass clear to Fairfax, and her sister said her husband could only help me as far as Kansas City."



CHAPTER XII

ALONE IN A STRANGE CITY

Arrived at the Northwestern railway station, for a time Bob wandered about, enjoying the novelty of the people rushing hither and thither in their search of either friends or relatives, purchasing tickets, and tending to the baggage, and he wondered how they could accomplish anything, so great was the hustle and bustle.

In the course of his wanderings, he chanced upon the station restaurant, and though in his excitement and the novelty of the scenes about him, he had not thought of eating, the sight of food suddenly roused his hunger, and he went up to one of the counters.

The prices of the food, however, amazed him, and it was several minutes before he had picked out anything that he wanted that did not cost too much.

So long did Bob linger over the consumption of the modest repast he had ordered, that the waitress began to eye him with suspicion. And finally she exclaimed:

"Say! how long do you think you can stay here eating, or are you hoping that you will get a chance to sneak off without paying me? But that game won't work. I'm too wise to get caught by any trick like that. So just come across with the price of your feed."

This caustic comment upon the length of time he was lingering over the meal, and the open charge that he was trying to defraud the waitress, hurt Bob, and his embarrassment was evident in the flush that mounted to his face, as he stammered:

"I'm sorry if I've taken too long over my food. I didn't know I was expected to eat it all at once. But I don't think you have any right to say that I was trying to cheat you out of the pay. If I hadn't had the money in my pocket to pay for what I ordered, I shouldn't have ordered anything. How much is it, please?"

"Thirty cents," snapped the waitress.

Quickly Bob thrust his hand in his pocket, and drew forth a dollar bill and gave it to her.

So deeply had Bob been stirred by the unjust reflection upon his honesty, that his misery was plainly visible on his face, and the waitress, returning, could not but notice it.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel bad, kid," she apologized, "but you see, when people buy things in here, they generally pay for them right off, and we have so many tricks worked on us that we have to be pretty sly not to get nailed by some of them. But you're all right. You're only just green."

Leaving the restaurant, Bob returned to the waiting-room, where he picked out a seat nearest the place where the train announcer always stood when he called out the trains that were ready for the passengers. But as he sat there, he could not get the words of the girl in the restaurant out of his mind, and kept repeating to himself: "Only just green."

The constant brooding over this remark suggested the thought to him: "If people here in the cities like New York and Chicago think that I don't know anything, and am not used to the ways of doing things, what will they think of me out in Fairfax? I said I wouldn't let them take me for a tenderfoot, and I won't. I'll just pretend I know all about things and watch how the other people do."

This new resolve fascinated the boy, and he fell into a day dream, in which bronchos, cowboys, and herds of cattle figured prominently, and so engrossed did he become in it, that it was with a start he heard the train announcer call out the train for Kansas City and the West, which he was to take.

Following the others who were going on the same train, Bob made his way to the cars.

Mindful of his recent resolution and the unpleasant experience with the porter of the parlor car, Bob scrutinized each coach of the train carefully as he walked along until he came to one that was obviously a chair car, and this he entered, selecting a seat well in the middle.

Eager as Bob was to reach his destination, it seemed to him that they would never start, but when at last the wheels began to squeak as the train got in motion, he gave vent to a sigh of delight.

Of the people about him, he took only passing notice, and busied himself with trying to map out a plan of action after he reached Fairfax.

When the conductor came along collecting the tickets, Bob proudly drew forth his pass and presented it. As though unable to reconcile the bit of paper with the poorly-clad boy, the conductor scrutinized the official transportation closely, from time to time glancing at Bob.

Unable satisfactorily to solve the incongruity, the official muttered:

"The pass is all right, but it doesn't seem right for this boy to have it."

This voicing of the thoughts, which were evidently passing through the conductor's mind, scared Bob, and he asked, assuming an air of confidence that he did not feel:

"What's the matter with that pass?"

"Nothing, provided you are Bob Chester. But I don't see why you should be given one."

"Well, if it's all right, and properly made out, I don't know that it's any concern of yours why it was given to me. If you have any doubt about it, why don't you find out from the people who issued it?"

"That's a good idea. It's just what I was going to do. I will just keep it until I know it's all O.K."

And, putting the piece of official transportation in his pocket, the conductor moved along through the car.

With dismay and a feeling of foreboding, Bob watched the conductor go from his car with the precious pass. He dared not protest; indeed, the thought of the proper way to make an objection did not occur to him. In fact, he did not know that he could do so, and his own temerity in calling attention to the fact that it was made out had startled him. But bitterly did he rue his suggestion that the conductor keep the all-important paper until he was satisfied as to its genuineness.

In a few minutes Bob noticed the brakeman come into the car and stare at him. But he did not know that the man had done so in obedience to the order of the conductor, who had told the trainman to take a look at Bob, and then to take care that the boy did not try to leave the train until the matter of the pass had been properly cleared up.

As the train whirled through the darkness of the night, Bob occasionally caught a glimpse of light in the scattered houses or towns through which it passed, but so dark was it that he could see nothing of the country.

Dropping his chair back, the boy tried to go to sleep, but his anxiety over the safety of his pass made it impossible, though he dropped into a doze several times only to awake with a start.

In the meantime, the conductor had sent a telegram to the offices in Chicago where Bob had obtained the transportation, asking if a pass had been issued to Bob Chester, and requesting a description of that individual.

Whenever the conductor walked through the car, Bob inquired anxiously as to when he should receive the important piece of paper back again, but the man in charge of the train only answered gruffly:

"You'll get it back soon enough, if it's all right."

"But if it isn't?" asked Bob, in a boyish eagerness to know the exact conditions he was facing.

"You'll be put off the train, anyhow, and perhaps you will have to go to jail."

As the conductor announced this alternative, he watched Bob closely, and the start the latter gave at the mention of the possibility of arrest, only confirmed the man in his suspicion that there was something irregular about the boy's having the free transportation. But as the reader knows, it was no thought of the pass being spurious that disturbed Bob. The word "jail" had brought to his mind his unpleasant experience in New York.

From thinking about his arrest and the men who had been its cause, Bob went over in his mind all the events that had transpired since that momentous happening, yet he had no regret at the course he had chosen.

Not long after daylight, as the train entered what Bob could see was a good-sized city, and stopped at the station, the boy decided he would get out and walk up and down the platform in order to stretch his legs.

Evidently never thinking the lad would be astir so early, the brakeman had neglected to obey his instructions and keep close watch on Bob, so that his leaving the car was unnoticed.

Seeing a place where he could get a drink of water, Bob walked toward it.

Just as he was in the midst of drinking from the cup, he was stupefied to hear the snorting of an engine, and, upon turning his head, to see the train on which he had been riding disappearing from the station.

With a cry of alarm, Bob dashed after it, shouting:

"Wait! Stop the train! The conductor's got my pass!"

But the few officials about paid no heed to the lad's frantic cries, and the train continued on its way, while Bob was left in a strange place, bereft of his pass, and without knowing what to do in order to regain possession of the precious piece of paper which was to carry him to Fairfax.



CHAPTER XIII

BOB STARTS AGAIN

Bob's lusty shouts, as he vainly tried to stop the train, drew the attention of the few employees in the station at so early an hour, and they gathered about him, taking mental stock of his worn clothes and his honest face, as they approached.

"What's the matter? Nobody here to meet you?" asked one of the men, on whose hat were the words, "Station Master."

"This isn't a very convenient hour to meet any one. Where do your people live? We can direct you how to get to them."

Not having heard the words uttered by Bob, the agent's inference that the boy was disappointed at finding no one to meet him, was natural. But Bob soon disillusioned him.

"The train's gone and left me," said he, with ever so slight a shakiness in his voice, as he thought of the train speeding on its way and with it his precious pass.

"Well, there are other trains," declared a second man. "You can take the next one."

The quaver in Bob's voice, however, had reached the ears of the station master, and he asked kindly:

"How far were you going?"

"To Fairfax, Oklahoma."

With the evident purpose of reassuring Bob, the station master said:

"Oh, well, it will only make the difference of twelve hours or so in reaching Fairfax. There's another train goes through at four o'clock this afternoon."

"It isn't the delay I mind," returned Bob, "but the conductor has my pass!"

"You travelling on a pass?" exclaimed another incredulously, as though unable to reconcile Bob's shabby apparel with the possession of such a privileged means of transportation.

"My, that is bad," mused the station master. "But don't worry. I'll have word telegraphed to the conductor to leave your pass with the agent at Kansas City, and you can get it there. Come with me, and we'll see about sending the message."

"But how shall I get to Kansas City without any ticket?" asked Bob, as he accompanied his new-found friend into the station. "I only have a few dollars, which I shall need when I get to Fairfax. I suppose it would cost a lot to buy a ticket?"

"If you had a pass, it won't be necessary for you to pay. I'll arrange that all right."

Randolph, the city in which Bob was marooned, being a division headquarters of the railway, there was a train despatcher's office in the station, and thither the agent led Bob.

Going over to one of the telegraphers, the station master explained the situation briefly.

"What do you want me to wire? Jenkins is the conductor, isn't he?"

"Yes. Say, 'Jenkins, Aboard No. 6: Leave'," and then he turned to the boy, asked his name, and continued: "'Bob Chester's pass with the ticket agent at Kansas City. Will send Bob on the next train. ROBINSON,

"'Station Master, Randolph.'"

Scarcely had the operator forwarded the message than he suddenly leaned over his instrument, listened intently, and then exclaimed:

"I'll bet Jenkins will be glad to get your wire about the boy. Was there any trouble about the pass?" and he looked at Bob.

"Yes," responded the youth, and told them about the conductor's suspicions. "But why did you ask?"

"Because I caught a message going to Jenkins from Chicago."

"It said the pass was all right, didn't it?" queried Bob anxiously.

"It did," replied the operator, with emphasis, "and more, too. Said you were a particular friend of 'Old Man' Perkins, and advised Jenkins to treat you well, as one man had got into trouble through being uncivil to you."

"But I made that all right; at least, I wrote a note asking Mr. Perkins to take the porter back again," answered Bob innocently.

The overheard message had a salutary effect upon both the operator and agent, and they took a new interest in the boy who was a protege of the railroad president.

After asking Bob about the incident of the parlor car, they told him to make himself comfortable, and when he felt hungry to let them know.

"I could eat now," smiled Bob, his troubles vanished.

"Then I'll have one of my men go with you to a restaurant just up the street a little way."

"You're very kind, but I can go alone," replied Bob.

"I don't doubt it," laughed the station master. "But, after that wire from Chicago to Jenkins, I don't want anything to happen to you while I am responsible.

"Hey, Tom," he called to one of the trainmen, "take this boy up to Sweeney's, and see that he has a good feed."

In that mysterious manner in which news travels, word had been passed of the instructions to Jenkins, and the man hailed as Tom gladly accepted his task, saying:

"Come on, Bob. When you've tasted Sweeney's wheat cakes, you'll always remember Randolph."

"I think I'll remember it, anyway," smiled Bob, as he set out for the restaurant with his guide.

Bob's appetite had not been in the least impaired by the unpleasant experience through which he had passed, and he ate three plates of griddle cakes.

"My, but those cakes sure were good," he observed, smacking his lips with relish.

His companion, with good-natured patience, had watched the boy eat, and, as Bob expressed his approval of Sweeney's food, he said:

"Better have another plate. You'll never get any cakes quite as good as Sweeney's till you get back to Randolph."

Though with evident reluctance, Bob declined, and, after paying for the meal, they returned to the station.

By the time of their arrival, more trainmen were on duty, and to each the story of Bob's getting left had been told.

As a result, when they saw the boy, they smiled at him, and proffered good-natured comments.

"Feel less hungry, now?" asked the station master, as Tom and Bob entered his office.

"Yes, thank you," replied the latter. "Sweeney surely can cook griddle cakes! I wish he lived out in Fairfax."

"Take him along," laughed Tom, "and start in business. All Sweeney needs is a flame to cook on, and the fixin's."

While they were talking, one of the telegraph operators came in, with a despatch for the agent.

"Here's Jenkins' answer," said he, holding out the sheet of yellow paper.

Taking it, the station master read aloud:

"ROBINSON, Randolph: Will leave pass as instructed. Square me with the boy, if you can. Buy him all he wants to eat, and I'll settle.

"JENKINS."

At the words proclaiming the conductor's evident anxiety over how Bob felt toward him, they all laughed.

"It'll do Jenkins good to worry a little," commented Tom. Then, as an idea occurred to him, he struck his thigh, and exclaimed: "I say, Jenkins is an awful miser. Let's put up a joke on him. We'll take a dozen of the boys, have a feed at Sweeney's, and charge it to Jenkins."

"That's the idea! Great! Fine!" were some of the remarks that greeted the suggestion.

But on Bob's face there was a look of doubt, as he said:

"I don't think that would be exactly fair, would it?"

"Why not?" asked several.

"Because Mr. Jenkins would know I couldn't eat so much."

Tom, however, was loath to abandon his joke, and argued:

"But he said for Robinson to square him with you, didn't he?"

"Why, yes."

"Then, Robinson can tell him the feed for the dozen of us was the only way he could do it."

Though he did not wish to be a spoil-sport, Bob, however, did not approve of the plan. Consequently, it was with relief he beheld a large, red-faced man, in overalls and jumper, enter the station master's office, exclaiming as he caught sight of the boy:

"Are you the kid Conductor Jenkins left here?"

"Yes, sir."

"How'd you like to go over to Kansas City on my freight train?"

"First-rate. I never rode on a freight, and I'd like to."

"You'll never want to again," commented Tom. "What'll become of our feed if you go?"

"Oh, we can have it, just the same," returned another.

Bob, however, was too engrossed with the prospect of riding on a freight train, to overhear the remark.

At first, the station master had thought to protest against letting his charge go, but, as he noticed the boy's eagerness, he said:

"Hosmer, shake hands with Bob Chester. Don't let anything happen to him. He's a special friend of 'Old Man' Perkins. When you get to Kansas City, take him to the ticket agent, and be sure he gets the pass all right."

"Never fear; I'll stay with him till his train's in, and then introduce him to the conductor. Come on, Bob. Train's waiting."

Quickly saying good-bye to the station master and the others, and thanking them for their kindness, Bob followed the big conductor, and was soon started on his way to Fairfax again, aboard the freight train.



CHAPTER XIV

AT THE THROTTLE OF A FREIGHT ENGINE

Taking Bob to the caboose, the freight conductor made him known to the brakemen who were lolling about, smoking.

"So you're the kid Miser Jenkins thought stole your pass?" exclaimed one of the trainmen, after a searching scrutiny of the boy. "He must be losing his eyesight. That face of yours ought to vouch for you, if nothing else. Crooks don't have such honest faces."

"Oh, the miser was probably trying to pull off one of his grand-stand plays," commented another. "Passes are pretty rare birds, nowadays, and I suppose he thought he could make a hit with the company by inquiring about this one."

"And instead of that, he got hit himself. Brown, in the despatcher's office, told me the message Jenkins received from Chicago was red hot."

From the remarks, Bob could see plainly that the officious conductor was not popular, and he was wondering whether or not he was expected to make any comment, when Hosmer said, his face suffused with a look of glee:

"Well, the boys are going to put one over on the 'miser'."

And, pausing aggravatingly, the freight conductor filled his pipe and lighted it.

His action produced the desired effect of tantalizing the brakemen, and they exclaimed eagerly:

"Out with it, Hos'! Tell us! Let us in on it!"

Waiting a moment, to give his words greater emphasis, the conductor removed his pipe from his mouth, and said:

"All the boys are going up to Sweeney's, order the swellest meal he can put up, and send the bill to Jenkins!"

"Whoopee! Great! I wish we were in on it!" exclaimed the brakemen in unison.

"Is that quite fair?" asked Bob, having hoped that his departure would put an end to Tom's plan.

"Fair? Sure, it's fair!" laughed Hosmer. "Anyhow, I don't see why you should care. He treated you mighty mean, taking your pass away from you."

As the other trainmen agreed with the opinion of their conductor, Bob made no further objection, contenting himself with the thought that he could hardly be held responsible.

During the conversation, the long freight train had got under way, and while the boy found many novel things to hold his attention, the brakemen amused themselves speculating on the effect the joke would have upon Jenkins.

As the engine whistled for a station, Hosmer said to Bob:

"How'd you like to ride on the engine till the next stop?"

"My, but it would be fun!" replied Bob, his eyes sparkling with delight.

"Then come on! I'll take you up and fix it with Barney, the engineer."

As the train stopped, with a loud creaking of brakes and groaning of wheels, Bob jumped from the caboose and accompanied the burly conductor to the head of the train.

"Hey, Barney!" he hailed the engineer.

The man thus addressed poked a coal-begrimed face from the window of his cab, asking:

"What is it—wait orders?"

"Not this time. I've got a boy here—Bob Chester—who wants to ride with you to the next station."

For a moment the engineer scowled, and Bob feared he would refuse. But quickly the grimy face broke into a smile, as Barney asked:

"Is that the kid with a pass Jenkins left?"

"Yes."

"Sure he can ride with me. Help him up."

Bob, however, needed no assistance, and no sooner had the permission been granted than he was climbing into the engine cab.

Before he had succeeded, Hosmer whispered:

"Barney's all right—and he doesn't like Jenkins. Tell him about the joke the boys are going to play." And then he continued aloud: "I'll either come for you, myself, or send some one when we reach Hastings. Orders give us the right of way to Hastings, Barney."

"O.K.," grunted the engineer, as he turned to scrutinize Bob, at the same time standing so that he could glance up the track toward the station to catch the signal to start.

Acting on the conductor's advice, Bob narrated the plan Tom had devised for having fun at Jenkins' expense, and was rewarded by seeing the engineer's face break into a broad grin, and then to hear him roar with laughter.

"That'll make 'Old Miser's' hair turn gray," he gasped between laughs. "He'll never get over it, never!

"Oh, Ned," he called to his fireman, who had been out oiling some part of the engine, "the boys are going to put one over on 'Miser' Jenkins."

But before the engineer had an opportunity to tell of the contemplated joke, he caught the signal from the conductor to start.

"Get up on that seat on the left-hand side, and hang on," warned Barney, and, as Bob obeyed, he pulled open the throttle.

As the iron monster began to move, puffing and smoking at the task of starting the long train, it seemed to the boy that the noise would deafen him. But he soon forgot it in the absorption of watching the fireman open the doors of the firebox, throw in shovels-full of coals, and then inspect the water and steam gauges.

With the gradual increasing of the speed, the din subsided. Yet a new discomfort took its place. So violently did the engine sway, that Bob was obliged to hang on to the window on his side of the cab to keep from bouncing to the floor.

Watching out the corner of his eye, as he scanned the track ahead, the engineer smiled at the boy's trouble in staying on the seat.

Bob, however, soon adapted himself to the engine's motion, and was finally able to sit without clutching the window-frame.

Noting this, Barney got down, crossed the cab, and putting his mouth close to the boy's ear, asked:

"Like to run the engine awhile?"

"Would I? I should say so!" returned Bob in delight.

Though his reply was inaudible, the expression on his face was eloquent.

"Then, take hold of my arm, so you won't get thrown out. That's the way. Steady, now. Climb on to the seat. Good. Now, put your left hand on that lever. That's what they call the throttle. When you pull it toward you, it increases the speed; to slow down, you push it away from you."

Proud, indeed, did Bob feel as his hand clasped the smooth handle of the lever. Never had he expected to run a real, snorting locomotive, dragging a long line of cars, and the realization that he was actually controlling the speed, set him a-tingle with delight.

Crowding in behind Bob, the engineer kept watch of the track, but not so closely that he could not observe and enjoy the boy's pleasure.

After several minutes, Bob turned and shouted:

"Can I pull on the throttle a little?"

"Sure. Open her to the next notch. We've got plenty of steam."

But Bob found it was not so easy to get the notch as it seemed. He kept gamely at it, however, and at last succeeded.

Till they reached the yard limit of Hastings, the engineer allowed him to hold the throttle, and when he at last took it and began to ease down the speed, Bob sighed wistfully.

As the big machine finally came to a stop with a grunt, Barney exclaimed:

"You ought to be an engineer, boy. You've got the nerve to drive hard. We did ten miles in twenty minutes—which is going some with this load."

Just then, however, the conductor came up.

"Like it, Bob?" he asked.

"Indeed, I did! Mr. Barney let me drive, and I made ten miles in twenty minutes."

"Good boy! We'll make a railroad man out of you yet. Think you could follow me back to the caboose over the cars?"

"I can try," returned Bob.

But before the attempt could be made, the conductor was called to the station office to receive orders.

Swelled with pride at his success in driving the engine, Bob determined to surprise the conductor by going back to the caboose alone.

And with a hearty good-bye to the engineer, he clambered over the coal-stacked tender and up on to the top of a car.

The orders were to take a siding to allow a passenger train to pass, and, as the time was short, the conductor was too busy sending his brakemen to turn the switches and communicating the instructions to the engineer, to think of Bob.



The boy, however, was making his way back slowly, but without mishap, until the sudden start of the train. He had just climbed down from a high car, and was swinging from it to an empty coal car, when the jerk of starting ran through the line of cars.

So unexpected was this action, that Bob's feet slipped off the bumpers.

Crying out in alarm, he clutched frantically at one of the hand-bars on the end of the coal car, caught it, and managed to draw himself up till he found foothold on the extension of the floor where he stood, hanging on for dear life, until the train stopped with another jerk.



CHAPTER XV

BOB EARNS HIS PASSAGE

All of a tremble at his narrow escape from falling under the car, Bob was trying to recover his self-control before getting down from his precarious position, when he was startled to hear a voice exclaim:

"I'll get even with that 'con' for putting me off the blind baggage, see if I don't!"

The tone in which the words were uttered was so venomous, that Bob realized the speaker meant mischief, though he was ignorant of the fact that in the slang of tramps who beat their way on railroads, "con" betokened conductor, and "blind baggage" the platform of the coach in a passenger train nearest the engine.

Looking about to find out where the angry man was, Bob could see no one.

But the next instant another voice asking, "How you goin' to do it?" decided him that the speakers must be crouching against the end of the empty coal car to which he was holding.

How he had failed to discover them from the top of the other car, he could not understand, but he soon ceased to wonder, in his eagerness to catch every word uttered by the unseen tramps.

"That's easy," replied the voice the boy recognized as having made the threat to "get even."

"Cut out that talk, and get down to business," growled a third voice.

"All right, 'Bo. We can put all sorts of crimps into this road by 'holding up' the night express! The officials of this road, whose men are too stingy to let a fellow ride on the blind baggage, are boasting they haven't had a 'hold-up' for years."

The various exclamations with which this wicked plan was greeted, told Bob not only that it met the approval of the tramps, but that there were more than two of them.

The full danger of a "hold-up" the boy did not realize. He remembered, however, having read of such occurrences out West where passengers were terrorized and robbed of money and jewelry.

But his speculation was again interrupted by the renewal of the conversation.

"That will sure set us even, but when can we do it?" inquired a voice eagerly.

"And get away safely?" added another.

"There's only one place," responded the voice of the man who had suggested the plot.

"Where?" chorused the others.

"On this end of the long bridge across the river."

"Right you are, 'Bo. We can make our 'get-away' down the bank and find some of the 'shanty men' to take us across."

"And into the arms of the police," sneered the ringleader. "We'll use the bank to escape, but we won't ask any favors of a 'shanty man'."

"Will there be enough money aboard to make it worth while?" inquired one of the schemers, with an evidently practical turn of mind.

"Sure; Number 4 always carries a bunch of gold for Western towns."

"But how'll we board her?" asked still another.

"Get a lantern and wave it."

"Will they stop?"

"Say, why do you suppose I chose the approach to the bridge?" snapped the man who had proposed the scheme.

And then, without giving his companions a chance to speak, he answered his question himself:

"Because the engineer'll think there is something wrong on the bridge and stop. It'll be dead easy."

Bob's eyes were almost popping out of his head, as, afraid to peep over the top of the car, he stared at the boards as though striving to see through them.

Straining his ears to catch every word, he heard another of the plotters begin to speak, when a train thundered past, effectually cutting off all conversation with its roar.

Though Bob did not know it, so absorbed was he in listening, less than five minutes had passed since he had started back for the caboose.

With the necessity of making a quick shift to the siding, the conductor of the freight train had momentarily forgotten the presence of his youthful charge, and when at last he did remember, it was with the supposition that he had remained in the cab with the engineer.

Accordingly, upon receipt of orders to proceed, Hosmer decided to let Bob ride longer in the cab, and shouted to his men to get aboard, waving his arm in the "go ahead" signal to the engineer.

But Bob had heard the shouts, and divining their meaning, jumped to the track, having no relish for riding farther in his dangerous position between the cars.

Fortunately, both the engineer and conductor saw the boy, as he leaped to the ground, and the signal to start was not obeyed.

Recovering his balance, Bob ran toward Hosmer.

As he drew near enough for the conductor to see his white, excited face, he exclaimed:

"Where have you been? I thought you were in the cab with Barney."

"I—I tried to go back over the cars," stammered Bob.

"Barney shouldn't have let you. It's too dangerous for a greenhorn."

Wincing at the words, which slipped out unconsciously as the conductor thought of what might have happened to the boy, Bob hastened to defend the engineer by saying:

"Mr. Barney didn't know I was going. I wanted to surprise you by showing you I could go back without your help. And—and then the train started, and I had to hang on to a coal car."

"Well, so long as you didn't get hurt, it's all right. But don't try it again. Now, run back and climb into the caboose. Let's see how quick you can do it."

The last was a diplomatic means to make the boy hurry, for the conductor was anxious to start the train, yet would not until he saw his charge safe in the caboose.

And his ruse was successful, for Bob, eager to show his speed, raced down the track and quickly swung aboard.

Smiling, Hosmer again signalled to Barney, the train started, and as the last car reached him, the conductor climbed on.

"Have any trouble when we started?" one of the brakemen was asking Bob as Hosmer entered the car.

"Pretty near. I was just crossing from a high to a low car, when the jerk came. But I managed to hang on."

"Good boy," chorused the train crew, all of whom realized too well the danger to which the boy had been subjected.

"But when we stopped on the siding, why didn't you get down?" asked the conductor.

"Because I was listening," announced Bob with a manner of mystery that would have been droll were his face not so serious.

"Listening?" exclaimed the others, instantly alert.

"Yes. I was just going to get down, when I heard some one speak, and then I waited."

"Hoboes," growled a brakeman, jumping up and seizing a short club. "What car were they on, kid?"

"The first coal car from the engine. But you mustn't go up there. They are bad men."

This warning was greeted with laughter by the brakemen, the others of whom had also picked up clubs.

The conductor, however, having a son of his own, realized from Bob's manner that the lad had something he wanted to tell but did not know how to begin, and accordingly asked him:

"What did you hear, son?"

"I heard them plan to hold up Number 4 to get even!"

"What?" demanded all the trainmen, their faces instantly growing serious.

"Yes; the man said he was going to get even for being put off the 'blind baggage'."

For a moment the members of the train crew looked at one another in amazement, then fell to plying Bob with questions, making him repeat the conversation over and over.

"Well, you've earned your passage to Fairfax, all right, Bob!" ejaculated the conductor. "It would break our record for being free from holdups, to say nothing of the loss to passengers. The company ought to do something handsome by you, my boy."

"Then you can prevent it?" queried Bob anxiously.

"Sure thing. We'll capture them at the next station. Better get ready, boys," added Hosmer significantly to his brakemen. "They may prove hard to handle."

Turning their backs, so Bob could not see exactly what they were doing, the brakemen opened a cupboard and took out some things which they slipped into the pockets of their jumpers.

But their preparations to capture the would-be train robbers went for naught.

When, led by Bob to the coal car, the brakemen surrounded and, at a word from the conductor, mounted it, they found the car empty.

"They have given us the slip!" growled a brakeman.

"Examine every car and truck on the train," commanded Hosmer. "I'll go to the station and send in the alarm. Come, Bob."

And together the conductor and the boy hastened to the station, where the full story was quickly flashed to headquarters at Omaha.

When the officials first received it, they were incredulous, asking if it could not have been a fancy of Bob's brain. But Hosmer quickly vouched for the boy's honesty, and word came back to have Bob put off to meet the road's officers at one of the stations.

During the run to that city, the brakemen speculated upon the chances of capturing the miscreants, lamenting the fact that the glory had been denied them.

Arrived at the city, Bob was taken to a room and closely questioned by the officers, who were soon convinced of the truth of his story.

"Could you identify them if caught?" he was asked.

"If I could hear them speak, I could recognize the voice of the man who proposed the plan. I did not get a look at them," replied Bob.

Satisfied with this answer, the officers sent instructions to have the tracks patrolled from Hastings to the long bridge, to search all trains, and to arrest any tramps found.

This done, arrangements were made to have other detectives at the bridge in case the men eluded capture.

The waiting was tedious. But at last, about three in the afternoon, word was received that four tramps, heavily armed, had been captured about ten miles from the Mississippi river.

Putting Bob into the cab of an engine, six officers climbed aboard, and a record run was made to the scene of the arrest.

"You sit where you can watch and hear them talk," whispered a detective in Bob's ear.

At first the prisoners were silent, but under the taunts of the officers, their reserve weakened, and they began to rail at the men who had captured them.

Eagerly, Bob listened, then cried, pointing to the smallest of the four:

"That's the man who said he'd get even. I recognize his voice!"



CHAPTER XVI

FAIRFAX AT LAST

Elated by the capture and identification of the would-be train-robbers, the officers made much of Bob, praising him for remaining to listen until he had heard the dastardly plot, and commenting on the good fortune which had placed him just where the tramps were.

Modestly Bob bore the words of commendation, for his mind was on other matters, as the question he asked evidenced:

"How long before the train arrives that will take me to Fairfax?"

"I'm afraid it will be several days before you can go, Bob," answered one of the officers.

"Why?" demanded the boy, disappointment evident in his voice and on his face.

"Because it will be necessary for you to appear in court in order to convict the prisoners."

"But I don't see why you need me," protested Bob. "I told what I had heard and then pointed out the man who said he wanted to get even."

"That's just it, son. You are the only one who overheard the conversation and can identify the ringleader."

"Don't look so unhappy," chimed in another officer. "Kansas City is a pretty good town, and we'll give you the time of your life. Theatres and picture-shows, you know. The road will probably do something handsome for you. Anyhow, you'll have good living until it is necessary to come back here to testify."

But even the prospect of going to a theatre—a treat Bob had never enjoyed while with his guardian—failed to appease him, and his usually cheerful expression gave way to one of resigned gloom.

Noting this, and desirous of restoring the boy's good spirits, an officer suggested:

"Let's go over to Kansas City. How'd you like that, Bob?"

"First rate. Then I can get my pass again." And at the prospect of regaining possession of the precious piece of paper, he grew more cheerful.

While the detectives were making ready to start, two of their fellows, who had accompanied the prisoners to the jail, rushed in, exclaiming almost at the same time:

"We've got the case clinched! One of the four has confessed!"

Just what this meant, Bob did not know, but the news seemed to please the officers so greatly that their good spirits infected him.

"How'd you work it? Where's the confession? Let's read it!" exclaimed the detectives who had remained at the station.

"One at a time," laughed the chief of the force. "The confession is here," and he tapped his coat pocket. "It bears out exactly what our friend Bob told us."

"But how did you get it?" persisted the others.

"Promised the fellow who was most scared by his arrest a light sentence if he'd turn witness against his pals. And say, he jumped at the chance."

"Well, you are in luck, Bob!" declared the officer who had striven to cheer him up.

"Why?" inquired the boy.

"Because now you won't be obliged to wait for the trial. This confession and the evidence of the man will do the trick for us."

"Whoopee!" cried Bob, dancing about in delight. "Then I can start for Fairfax to-night?"

"Just as soon as a through train comes."

This information restored Bob's good spirits, and eagerly he boarded the special car which was waiting to take the detectives back to Kansas City.

As the officers discussed the incidents of the capture, one of them turned to the boy and said:

"Say, you surely are a regular bunch of luck, kid! I'd like to take you out to the gold regions. I bet you'd tumble into some abandoned mine that would be worth millions!"

Every one laughed at this comment upon Bob's good fortune, and the chief added:

"I hope it sticks by him. He'll need all the luck he has if any of those Oklahoma cowboys start in to have fun with him."

"I guess I will," smiled Bob. "Anyhow, a few knocks won't hurt me. Mr. Perkins told me all I must look out for was to keep away from the saloon and gambling dens and not to make friends too quickly."

"Well, if you follow his advice, you'll get along all right."

Upon the arrival of the special car at Kansas City, the officers were met by a messenger with instructions to have Bob taken to the offices of the railroad company, as the vice-president wished to talk with him.

"There's more of your luck," commented the chief. "Mr. Nichols will probably give you a reward."

Bob, however, was more concerned about regaining possession of his pass and ascertaining when his train would leave than in speculation as to whether or not he would be rewarded, and he made no bones about saying so.

"Never mind the pass, now," returned the messenger, who was to escort him to the vice-president's office. "We'll get that in plenty of time so you won't miss your train."

Thus reassured, Bob turned to the detectives, saying:

"Good-bye, if I don't see you again."

"Oh, you'll see me," replied the chief. "I shall have you make a deposition to support the confession."

And amid wishes for the best of success, Bob and the messenger set out for the company's offices.

Direct to the vice-president's rooms Bob was taken.

As the messenger entered with him, a tall, gray-haired man arose from a desk and came forward with outstretched hand, announcing:

"I am Mr. Nichols, and I'm glad to know you, Bob."

For a moment the official gazed earnestly at the honest face before him, then continued:

"There's no use telling you that I and every man who works for our railroad is grateful to you for enabling us to catch the would-be train-robbers. You know that. I want you to tell me how we can reward you."

"I wasn't thinking of any reward, Mr. Nichols," answered Bob. "Mr. Perkins has been so kind to me that when I heard those bad men planning to stop the train, I only thought of repaying his kindness by preventing them if I could."

At these manly words, which showed that Bob was possessed with gratitude, in addition to his other good qualities, the vice-president again shook his hand cordially, exclaiming:

"You've got the right stuff in you, Bob. I'll let Perkins hear what you said. And now, sit down, and tell me all about your trip, beginning at New York."

Amazed that so important a man should evince interest enough in him to devote the time necessary to relate his story, Bob sank into the comfortable chair indicated by Mr. Nichols and began.

At first he was embarrassed, but with the kindly words now and then uttered by the vice-president, he regained his composure.

When the recital was ended, Mr. Nichols thrummed upon his desk for several minutes, and then asked:

"What would you like most in the world, Bob?"

Scarcely hesitating an instant, the boy replied:

"To prove that Len Dardus did not tell the truth when he said my father was crazy because father wrote me he had entrusted five thousand dollars to him for my education."

The expression that spread over Mr. Nichols' face as he heard this wish clearly showed surprise, for he had expected that, boy-like, Bob would have requested money, a rifle, or the like, and again he thrummed the table before saying:

"We will prove it, if we can, my boy. What was your father's name?"

"Horace Chester."

"Where was your letter written from—I mean the one telling you of the money?"

"Red Top, Oklahoma."

Swinging in his chair, the vice-president drew out a slide from his desk on which was a map and scanned it eagerly.

All at once, with an ejaculation of surprise, he murmured:

"This is remarkable—remarkable!"

Unable to restrain his curiosity, Bob rose from his chair and approached till he could see the map. But this afforded him no reason for his friend's observation, and he asked:

"What is remarkable, sir?"

"Why, that you should have chosen to go to Fairfax. Red Top is the next town, thirty miles west!"

"O—oh! Then I may find out something about father!" exclaimed Bob excitedly.

"Exactly. But you must be careful. If he really had the money, he may have possessed other property which is being withheld from you. In that case, should the interested persons learn that Horace Chester's son was in Fairfax something might happen to you."

The last words were uttered so significantly that Bob could not fail to understand Mr. Nichols' meaning, and when the latter continued, "I want you to promise me you will call yourself Bob Nichols till I have learned the truth of this matter," the boy solemnly consented.

"Good! Not only is it for your own safety, but it will enable you to investigate quietly without arousing suspicion.

"This will be our secret, Bob. You must not tell a soul, not even Mr. Perkins."

"I won't, sir."

Realizing from Bob's expression that he had aroused sad thoughts and memories, the vice-president stood up and said:

"Now that we have made this agreement, we will dismiss it from our minds for the present. I want you to come to dinner and the theatre with me."

"But my pass and the train?" exclaimed Bob.

"Your train, or rather the limited, on which I shall send you, does not leave until eleven. I'll send for your pass now." And, pressing a button, he ordered the clerk who responded to fetch Bob's pass.

This done, Mr. Nichols was signing some papers when word was brought that the chief of detectives wished to take Bob's deposition.

"Have them come in here," replied the official, and in due course the lawyer, notary and detective arrived.

Briefly Bob told his story, signed it, and solemnly swore to its truth.

"And now we'll forget all trouble and have a good time," announced Mr. Nichols. "Give this note to the cashier, chief. Take Bob's pass from the messenger and meet us at the limited at eleven. Bob and I are going to the theatre."

To the boy, it seemed as though he were in fairy-land. First Mr. Nichols took him to a store, bought him a new suit and a complete outfit of shirts and clothes, had Bob don some of them, then purchased a trunk, ordered the things packed in it and sent to the station, finally taking Bob for a drive about the city.

At first Bob had protested, but the vice-president silenced him by saying that the service he had rendered the railroad was worth much more than the clothes.

Dinner and theatre were one whirl of pleasure to the boy. And after he had been put in care of the conductor of the limited, had bidden good-bye to Mr. Nichols and the detectives, who all gathered to see him off, bringing various little presents, and the train was in motion, he sat and pondered over the series of events.

But his surprises were not ended, for when he opened the envelope containing his pass, he found two crisp fifty-dollar bills pinned to a card, which said:

"For Bob Chester, with the compliments of the Great Western Railroad."

Nature, however, asserted herself at last, and Bob went to sleep.

Interesting because of its novelty, the journey proceeded without further incidents, and in due course Bob reached Fairfax.



CHAPTER XVII

SEEKING A JOB

The stopping of the Limited at the little settlement of Fairfax was sufficient to arouse the curiosity of the dozen or so men who were lounging about the station, and when they saw that such an unusual proceeding was to allow a mere boy to alight, they stared at him with unfeigned interest.

"Must be the son of some big bug," hazarded one of the idlers.

"Or else he was put off for trying to beat his way," declared another, whose surly disposition was evident in his words.

"Can't a person get off here without starting a guessing match?" commented a third.

"Of course," replied the surly man. "But it don't seem natural."

During these remarks Bob was engrossed in gazing at the place he had chosen in which to build his fortune, and the prospect was not reassuring.

About half a mile from the station he could see a score or more of houses built in all sorts of shapes, and possessing anything but an attractive appearance. Beyond the settlement and on all sides, the prairies stretched in awesome vastness.

As he surveyed the surroundings, Bob could not restrain a sigh, but quickly checked it as a pleasant-faced, powerfully built man stepped briskly from the cabin which served as station and said cheerily:

"You're Bob Nichols, I suppose. My name is Henry Thomas. Your father wired me to be on the lookout for you. I had to report the train or I'd have come out sooner. What can I do for you?"

Hearing himself addressed as Nichols was a distinct shock to the boy, but to be taken for the son of the vice-president of the railroad completely dumfounded him, and for a moment he was on the point of denying the assumption. Then his promise to adopt the name recurred to him and he decided that Mr. Nichols' failure to disclaim relationship was probably with a purpose, so he just muttered something as though in answer to the first question and said aloud:

"I should be obliged if you would direct me to the hotel. I suppose they will send for my trunk."

"I'll direct you, of course," returned the agent, "and you can't very well miss it because it's the only one in town. But if you don't mind, I'd like to have you put up here with me." Then he added in a low voice: "The Red Indian isn't the sort of place you're used to and I'd feel safer to have you here."

"Oh, all right," laughed Bob. "I shan't be in town very long; that is, if I can find a ranch where they'll take me."

"So you're bound to ranch it, eh? You'll find it pretty tough," commented Thomas.

"That's what I'm here for," answered the boy, smiling. "I guess I can stand it."

"Mebbe you can and mebbe you can't," observed the surly-looking man, who had edged his way to where the agent and Bob were talking and had heard the boy's last remark.

"It all depends on whose ranch you strike. Most cowpunchers don't cotton to tenderfeet. The last one that hit Fairfax stayed just three days and was mighty glad to light out on a freight train."

"Now, Higgins, don't try to scare Mr. Nichols," exclaimed Thomas. "His father's vice-president of the Great Western."

"So you are Si Nichols' son, eh?" inquired Higgins.

"I thought out-West people weren't supposed to ask questions," returned Bob.

"Good boy! That's one on you, Higgins!" chuckled the other loungers gleefully, and the station agent added: "Now leave the boy alone. He's my guest while he's in Fairfax and any trick played on him I shall consider a personal affront to myself."

As the agent uttered these words, he drew himself to his full height and Bob could see that he was a splendid specimen of manhood. And that the others had a wholesome respect for his prowess was evident in the more deferential manner which they adopted toward Bob.

"Oh, if he's your special friend, all right," growled Higgins, but he added under his breath, "I'll have some fun with you, Mr. Tenderfoot, see if I don't."

As he walked with the agent to where his trunk lay beside the track, Bob could not but wonder what his reception would have been had he not made the chance acquaintance of such powerful friends, and he thanked his good fortune that he had done so, for he felt out of place and very lonely in a strange country and among such rough-mannered men.

Divining what was passing through the boy's mind from the seriousness of his face, Thomas said:

"You mustn't take to heart what these men out here say to you, Mr. Nichols. Wresting a livelihood from the prairies has accustomed them to giving and receiving hard knocks, and they don't stop to think how what they say will sound. Just take it good-naturedly and give them back better than they send—if you can."

"I'll try," said the boy. "But please don't call me Mr. Nichols. Just Bob. I like it better."

At this request, Bob rose a hundred per cent. in the estimation of the agent.

"All right. But if I do, you must call me Hal," he replied.

When they had carried the trunk into a little room off the station, Thomas said:

"Can you ride horseback at all, Bob?"

"No."

"That's too bad. You'll have to learn. Everybody rides out here. I've orders to get you the best pony possible and I wanted to know just what kind to get. Most of 'em have some mean trick. But there's one, Firefly they call him, that is as gentle as a lamb. Whether Shorty Simmons will sell him or not, I don't know, but I'll find out."

"Is he fast?" asked Bob, fearing that the pony might be slow and old because he was gentle.

"There's not a horse in Fairfax that can keep up with him. Now this will be your room. It's mine too, but I'll move if you wish."

"If you do, I'll go to the hotel."

"All right, I won't. While you are changing your clothes, I'll ride over to town and see if I can buy Firefly."

The group of loungers was still on the platform when the agent went to the little lean-to beside the station where he kept his horse, saddled and mounted it, and as they saw him ride forth a wicked gleam appeared in Higgins' eyes.

He calculated that Bob would soon emerge from the seclusion of the station, and in such event he recognized his opportunity for carrying out his vow to have some fun with the boy.

Eager to begin Western life, Bob quickly took off his new suit and put on a pair of the corduroy trousers and one of the blue flannel shirts Mr. Nichols had bought him and then proudly placed on his head a sombrero.

Standing before the looking glass, he surveyed the effect, saying to himself as he noted the change the costume made in his appearance:

"I don't believe Mr. Dardus or anyone back in New York would know me now."

But not long did he linger gazing at himself.

The voices of the men on the platform were audible and he decided to join the group in the hope that from some chance remark he might learn of a ranch where he could obtain a job as cowboy. For though he was grateful to the agent, Bob wanted to be independent.



CHAPTER XVIII

ON THE TRACK

"Now you look more as though you belonged in Fairfax," declared one of the loungers as Bob joined them.

"All except the clothes and hat," grunted Higgins. "Say, you won't have any trouble getting a job if you go just as you are. Any rancher would hire you to scare coyotes away from the home ranch."

This sally at his expense sent a hot flush to Bob's cheeks, but, remembering the agent's advice to give back better than he received, he retorted:

"If there were any such jobs around, I should think they'd pay you double wages!"

"Now will you try to get fresh with a tenderfoot?" asked one of the others when their laughter at Bob's sharp rejoinder had subsided.

"I ain't trying to get fresh," returned Higgins. "I'm just feeling the boy out. The sooner he gets used to Fairfax ways, the better."

But Bob's retort evidently inspired in him a greater respect for the boy and he refrained from making any more comments on his personal appearance.

After the interchange of a few general remarks, Bob said:

"I should be very grateful if some of you gentlemen would tell me of a ranch where I can apply for a job. I'd rather like to get one without Mr. Thomas' assistance."

In this request Higgins saw his chance. About ten miles from the settlement there lived a ranchman who was a man of mystery. Though his grazing ground was good and well-watered, and his pay prompt, he had such a temper that few cowboys would stay with him longer than a month or less, and to him Higgins decided to send Bob.

With this purpose, while the others were evidently trying to think of a suitable place for the boy, he said:

"There's only one I can think of and that's John Ford."

"Ford?" repeated Bob, his memory instantly recalling what the strange man with the scar had said about Sam and John Ford. "Where does he live?"

"Ten miles due west."

"Now, Higgins, you know better than to send this boy out there. Remember what Hal said about playing tricks on him."

Evidently this reminder had an effect upon the schemer, for he answered apologetically:

"Well, he asked about a place and I told him. You know as well as I do that John Ford always wants help."

"Sure we know it. But it ain't no fit place for such a boy."

Something suggested to Bob, however, that he should go to this ranchman, and accordingly he said:

"You needn't think I am so tender. Just because other men can't get along with Mr. Ford is no sign I can't. What is the nearest way to get there?"

"So long as you've got to walk, go straight down the track till you see a building with a red roof, on the left hand side," directed Higgins.

And before the others could protest, Bob uttered a hasty "thank you," and set off along the track at a dog trot.

"You'll get yours, Higgins, when Hal gets back," asserted the man who protested against Bob's being sent to Ford's.

"And you didn't even warn him about the dog," chided another.

At this reminder of the savage wolfhound that John Ford kept to guard his cabin, the idlers grew serious and exchanged uneasy glances.

"Oh, well! Ford'll probably see the boy so long as he comes from the direction of the railroad. Yellow Tom told me he sits by the hour looking toward the track—and he'll call off the brute."

"Providing the beast don't chew the boy up before John sees him," interposed another.

"Now, Tracy, don't always be looking for trouble," growled Higgins. "Life out West ain't no kindergarten. We had to take our knocks. Let the kid get his. Just because his father is rich ain't no reason why we should carry pillows around for him to fall on."

This crude viewpoint, if not satisfying to the consciences of Higgins' companions at least afforded relief, and they fell to wondering what Bob would say to them on his return—for return they expected he would.

In the meantime, the object of their thoughts was hurrying as rapidly as he could over the rough roadbed.

The crisp, bracing air seemed a stimulant to his lungs which had never breathed any but the contaminated air of New York, and he gloried in the fact that he was at last in a land where success did not depend on influence and riches, but where a man "made good" or failed, according to whether he was made of the right stuff or not.

For a time, his mind dwelt upon the insinuations Higgins and the others had made against Ranchman Ford, but the same power that had urged him to seek a job of this man whispered to him that he had nothing to fear. Dismissing all forebodings, therefore, Bob began to wonder if there could be any connection between Ford, the man with the scar and his father. The subject suggested so many possibilities and was, altogether, so vague, that, healthy-minded boy as he was, he decided not to ponder over it longer.

"There's no use building air castles," he told himself. "If Mr. Ford hires me and knows anything about father, I'll find it out in due time. There's one good thing, if I do land the job, Red Top will be ten miles nearer—and I can get away without exciting so much comment as from Fairfax."

From time to time as Bob trudged along, he scanned the plains on both sides of the track.

Thanks to the milestones placed at the side of the roadbed he was able to keep count of the miles he walked. Just after he had passed the eighth stone from Fairfax, Bob was electrified to see a herd of cattle in the distance. Pausing, he gazed at them interestedly, noticing that they were moving steadily instead of grazing. What this meant, he was at a loss to understand until of a sudden he saw three men on horseback emerge from the herd and, with arms waving, ride like mad to the head of the line and gradually change the direction of the cattle away from the track.

No need was there to tell him the riders were cowboys, and Bob thrilled with excitement as he watched their wonderful riding. But he did not wait till they were out of sight. Instead, he quickened his pace, murmuring:

"The sooner I get to Mr. Ford's, the sooner I'll be a cowboy."

The walk on the track was tiresome, however, unaccustomed to such rough traveling as he was, and it was with a sigh of relief that he finally caught sight of a group of buildings, one of which had a red-top roof.

"That must be the place," he exclaimed and, quickly leaving the track, started across the prairie. But Bob found that walking on the ties was easy compared to forcing his way through waist-high grass and stubborn sage-brush.



CHAPTER XIX

AN AMAZING RECEPTION

At last, however, Bob emerged into a clearing and stopped to survey the group of buildings. The one with the red roof faced the track and was built of logs. It was only one story high and about twenty feet long. The other two stood one on each side and were about twice as long but no higher. Back of the building, toward the west, was an enclosure surrounded by a high fence.

Had any one familiar with ranches been with Bob, they could have told him that enclosure was the corral, into which the cowboys turned their ponies when at the ranch, that the long building nearest the corral was the bunkhouse for the cowboys, and that the other long structure was the eating-house and storeroom of the ranch. But it was not long before Bob learned these facts for himself.

To all appearances, there was not a soul in any of the three houses and, as Bob stood gazing at them, trying to discover some sign of life, for he was loath to take the long tramp back to Fairfax without at least having asked Ranchman Ford for a job, he was suddenly startled to see a huge dog bounding toward him, its lips drawn back disclosing wickedly-long fangs.

Bob's first impulse was to flee, but such tremendous leaps did the creature take that he realized it would be only a few minutes before the dog would overtake him. Then it flashed through his mind that this might be the ranchman's way of "trying out" strangers who came to his door, and the boy determined to stand his ground.

"I'll show them that a 'tenderfoot' has some courage," Bob said, as he braced himself for the impact when the dog should leap upon him.

All the while, he had been steadily looking into the dog's eyes, and just as the creature was upon him the same power that had urged him to come to the Ford ranch seemed to tell him to speak to the animal.

"Steady, boy! Steady! I'm not going to do any harm here," he exclaimed.

Whether in surprise at the boy's unusual procedure in facing him—most callers at the ranch either hastened away or yelled to Ford to call off his dog—or what, the beast hesitated before his last leap that would have brought him on top of Bob and then, beginning to prance playfully, he approached fawningly.

"Good boy! That's the way. We ought to be good friends, you and I. Come here," exclaimed Bob, and as the dog came up, he patted his head caressingly.

The boy's relief was so great at finding the savage beast did not attempt to tear him limb from limb that he failed to notice the door of the red-roofed cabin open and a grizzled head emerge.

But the next instant the presence of the man was called to his attention by a terrific roar:

"Chester!"

Amazed at hearing his name, Bob gazed open-mouthed toward the house.

By this time, the man had come out onto the ground and the boy beheld a tall, spare-boned man, with weather-tanned face, a scrubby beard, and a mass of tousled hair.

The dog, however, paid no heed to the voice, rubbing against Bob and licking his hands.

Again came the bellow.

"Chester! Come here!"

Too alarmed by the imperiousness of the tone to wonder how the secret of his identity could be known by this man of the plains, Bob called:

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

But if the hearing of his name had caused Bob surprise, his response created more in the man.

"Oh! It's not you I want!" he yelled. "It's that fool dog! Come here, sir!"

But the dog obeyed no better than before.

A moment the ranchman glared at it, his face terrible in its anger, then dropped his hand to his hip and drew forth a revolver.

Divining his intention, Bob leaped in front of the dog, exclaiming:

"Don't shoot, sir! The dog has done nothing!"

"Done nothing, eh? I suppose you call making friends with a stranger nothing. Stand aside!"

But Bob did not move.

"Just because a dog makes friends with me is no reason for shooting him," he retorted.

A moment the man glowered sullenly from the dog to the boy, then, attracted by something about the latter, came closer and peered eagerly into Bob's face.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Bob Nichols."

"Nichols, eh? Then I must have been mistaken," he added in a voice too low for the boy to hear, and a look of disappointment settled on his face as he continued aloud: "Well, what do you want?"

"You are Mr. Ford, I presume?" asked Bob.

"I am; John Ford, owing no man a cent and afraid of nothing, or no one on earth."

Smiling at this unusual introduction, Bob said:

"I came out to ask if you'd give me a job on your ranch, Mr. Ford."

"Know anything about ranching?"

"No, sir. But I can learn."

"Who sent you to me?"

"A Mr. Higgins."

"Ned Higgins, eh? Trying another of his jokes, I suppose. Probably thought the dog would chew you up."

Then for a moment that seemed hours to the anxious boy, the ranchman pondered, finally exclaiming:

"Well, we'll fool Higgins this time. I'll take you on for a try. You're sure game or you wouldn't have stood before that fool dog, the way you did. Come in and we'll talk about wages."

And, as Bob entered the cabin, Ford turned to look at the dog, muttering to himself:

"Strange, mighty strange. I never knew him to make friends with any one before."



CHAPTER XX

BOB BECOMES OWNER OF A DOG

Interestedly Bob gazed about him as he entered, for the first time in his life, the home of a ranchman. At the left of the door, a bunk, covered with brilliant-colored blankets—which, had the boy known they were the handiwork of Indians, would have interested him greatly—extended from the wall. Above this crude bed was a rack holding three rifles and several revolvers. On the opposite side of the room were a cupboard and table, while in the rear was another cupboard, and a stove. A rocking and two straight-backed chairs completed the furnishings.

Just what Bob had expected to find in the cabin he could not have told, but its severity and barrenness disappointed him.

"Sit down," grunted the ranchman, motioning Bob to one of the straight-backed chairs while he himself sank into the rocker.

As Bob obeyed, the dog stretched himself at his feet.

Searchingly the ranchman scanned the boy's face, and the silence was becoming embarrassing when Ford broke it by demanding suddenly:

"What did you say your name was?"

"Bob Nichols."

"Where do you come from?"

"New York."

This answer caused the ranchman to sit up straight and again scrutinize the boy's features, as he asked:

"Got any folks?"

"No, sir."

"Live alone in New York?"

"No, sir. With my guardian."

"What made you come out here?"

"I wanted to be a cowboy and make my fortune."

"Cow punching ain't a paved highway to riches."

"But you are rich, aren't you?"

At this leading question, the grizzled man of the plains scowled, a suspicion of Bob's purpose in seeking a job with him flashing into his mind as he replied:

"Mebbe I am and mebbe I ain't. What made you think I was?"

"Mr. Higgins and the other men said you were."

"Huh! them fellows had better mind their own business," grunted the ranchman; but the ingenuous reply and the open honesty of the boy's face banished his suspicions, and he continued his questioning.

The length to which the catechising extended amazed Bob, in view of what he had been told and had read in regard to not asking questions, and he made his replies as brief as possible, taking good care to give only the most general information about himself.

Perceiving this, Ford finally asked:

"How much wages do you want?"

"I'll leave that to you, Mr. Ford. As I don't know anything about ranching, I don't expect much and I'm willing to trust you to do what is right."

This confidence in his squareness appealed more to the ranchman than anything else Bob could have said or done.

Leading the life of a recluse as he did and assuming a manner of forbidding austerity when forced to meet his fellows, the man had been endowed by them with a reputation for close—if not sharp—dealing, and this trust in him evinced by the boy moved him deeply, and with a voice in which there was a half sob, he returned:

"You won't lose by leaving the matter of wages to me, boy. Don't you worry about that, no matter what Ned Higgins or his cronies tell you."

"I shall not discuss my affairs with outsiders," replied Bob with seriousness that brought a smile to the plainsman's face.

"Good! Now, let's get down to business. Can you ride?"

"No. But I can learn."

"You'll have to. A man on a ranch who can't ride is about as useless as a rifle without cartridges. Let's see, you'll need a safe pony to learn on. I guess I'll let you try old Sox. He never was mean and he still has some speed. Pick up that saddle there," and he pointed to what is called a Mexican saddle, which has a high pommel and back; "the bridle is tied to it, and we'll go out to the corral. You ought to get so you can do pretty well by night. You've got to, because I need another puncher with my short-horn herd over by Red Top."

The thought that he was to be stationed close to the town that might hold secrets of the greatest importance to himself so excited Bob that his hands trembled as he seized the saddle.

Attributing this action to fear of the broncho, Ford said:

"You sure ain't scared of riding a pony when you faced Chester, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

"Then why are you trembling so?"

"Oh, because I'm so happy at having found a job, I guess," dissembled Bob. And then, in order to direct the ranchman's attention from himself, he asked:

"Why do you call your dog Chester?"

This question served Bob's purpose better than he could have desired, for it caused the grizzled plainsman to start suddenly.

Instantly recovering himself, however, he countered by demanding sharply:

"What makes you ask that?"

"Because it's such a queer name for a dog."

"Well, he's a queer dog," returned Ford tersely. "Now, come along with that saddle."

As though aware of their purpose, the dog had preceded them from the cabin, but as Ford and Bob stepped forth, he stopped, began to sniff the air and then emitted a long, low growl.

"Somebody's coming," announced the ranchman, pausing and following the direction of the wolfhound's gaze.

Eagerly Bob did the same, and in a few moments beheld a man riding a horse and leading another.

Instantly it flashed to the boy's mind that the horseman was his friend the station agent, who, having learned his destination, had followed, and he exclaimed: