While Roy's father had given him some instructions as to the best method of proceeding while in New York, Mr. Bradner had said nothing to his son about what he might expect on his railroad trip. Therefore the boy was totally unprepared for the novelties of modern travel. Mr. Bradner had thought it wise to let his son find out things for himself.
Roy had never been in anything but an ordinary day coach, and those were of an old-fashioned type. But his father had purchased for him tickets all the way to New York in the Pullman parlor and sleeping cars, and it was in a luxurious parlor car, then, that Roy found himself when he boarded the express.
At first the boy did not know what to make of it. The car had big chairs instead of the ordinary seats, the windows were nearly twice as large as those in other coaches, and there were silk and plush curtains hanging over them. Besides there was a thick, soft velvety carpet on the floor of the coach, and, what with the inlaid and polished wood, the hangings, mirrors, brass and nickel-plated fixtures, Roy thought he had, by mistake, gotten into the private car of some millionaire.
He had occasionally seen the outside of these fine coaches as they rushed through Painted Stone, but he had never dreamed that he would be in one. So, as soon as he entered the coach, he started back.
"What's de matter, sah?" inquired a colored porter in polite tones, as he came from what seemed a little cubby-hole built in the side of the car.
"Guess I'm in the wrong corral," remarked Roy, who was so used to using western and cattle terms, that he did not consider how they would sound to other persons.
"Wrong corral, sah?"
"Yes; I must be mixed in with the wrong brand. Where's the regular coach?"
"Oh, dis coach am all reg'lar, sah. Reg'lar as can be. We ain't got none but reg'lar coaches on dis yeah express. No indeed, sah."
"But I guess my ticket doesn't entitle me to a ride in a private car."
"Let me see youh ticket, sah."
Roy passed the negro the bit of pasteboard.
"Oh, yes indeedy, sah. Youh is all right. Dis am de coach youh g'wine to ride in. We goes all de way to Chicago, sah."
"Is this for regular passengers?" asked Roy, wondering how the railroad could afford to supply such luxurious cars.
"Well, it's fo' them as pays fo' it, sah. Youh has got a ticket fo' de Pullman car, an' dis am it, sah. Let me show yo' to youh seat, sah."
"Well, I s'pose it's all right," remarked Roy a little doubtfully. He saw several passengers smiling, and he wondered if they were laughing at him, or if he had made a mistake. He resolved to be careful, as he did not want it known that he was making a long journey for the first time.
"Heah's youh seat," went on the porter, escorting Roy to a deep, soft chair. "I'll be right back yeah, an' if youh wants me, all youh has to do is push this yeah button," and he showed Roy an electric button fixed near the window.
"Well, I don't know what I'll want of you," said the boy, trying to think what excuse he could have for calling the colored man.
"Why, sah, youh might want to git breshed off, or youh might want a book, or a cigar—"
"I don't smoke," retorted Roy promptly.
"Well, I'm here to wait on passengers," went on the negro, "and if youh wants me all youh has to do is push that yeah button."
"All right—er—" he paused, not knowing what to call the porter.
"Mah name's George Washington Thomas Jefferson St. Louis Algernon Theophilus Brown, but folks dey gen'ally calls me George, sah," and the porter grinned so that he showed every one of his big white teeth.
"All right—George," said Roy, beginning to understand something of matters. "I'll call you if I want you."
"Dey calls out when it's meal time."
"What's that?"
"I say dey calls out when it's meal time. De dining car potah will call out when it's time fo' dinner."
"Oh," remarked Roy, rather dubiously, for he did not know exactly what was meant.
The porter left him, laughing to himself at the lack of knowledge shown by the boy from the ranch, but for all that George Washington St. Louis Algernon Theophilus Brown resolved to do all he could for Roy. As for the young traveler he was so interested in the scenery, as it appeared to fly past the broad windows of the car, that he did not worry about what he was going to do when it came meal time.
Still, after an hour or so of looking out of the window it became a little tiresome, and he turned around to observe his fellow passengers. Seated near him was a well-dressed man, who had quite a large watch chain strung across his vest. He had a sparkling stone in his necktie, and another in a ring on his finger.
"Your first trip East?" he asked, nodding in a friendly way to Roy.
"My first trip, of any account, anywhere. I haven't taken a long railroad journey since I was a baby, and I don't remember that."
"I thought you looked as if you hadn't been a very great distance away from home. Going far?"
"To New York."
"Ah you have business there, I suppose?"
Now Roy, though he was but a youth, unused to the ways of the world, had much natural shrewdness. He had been brought up in the breeziness of the West, where it is not considered good form, to say the least, to ask too many questions of a man. If a person wanted to tell you his affairs, that was a different matter. So, as Roy's mission was more or less of a secret one, he decided it would not be well to talk about it, especially to strangers. So he answered:
"Yes, I have some business there."
His manner was such that the man soon saw the boy did not care to talk about his affairs, and, being a keen observer, too much so for Roy's good, as we shall soon see, the man did not pursue his questioning on those lines.
"Fine scenery," he remarked. "Good, open country around here."
Roy felt that was a safe enough subject to talk about, and he and the man, who introduced himself as Mr. Phelan Baker, spent some time in conversation.
Roy, however, was continually wondering what he should do when the announcement was made that dinner was to be served. He did not want to make any mistakes, and have the car full of passengers laugh at him, yet he did not know what was proper to do under the circumstances.
He had neglected to Inquire how they served meals on trains, and, in fact, had he done so, no one at the ranch could have told him, as not even Mr. Bradner had traveled enough to make it necessary to eat in a dining car.
"If I was back at the ranch I'd know what to do when I heard the grub-call," thought Roy. "But this thing has got me puzzled. It sure has. I wonder if they bring you in sandwiches and coffee, as they did to a party I went to? Or do you have to go up and help yourself? I don't see how they cook anything on a train going as fast as this one. They must have to eat cold victuals. Well, I guess I can stand it for a few days, I've eaten cold bacon and bread when on a round-up, and I'm not going to hold back now. Guess I'll just do as the rest do."
A little while after this a colored man, in a spotless white suit, passed through the parlor car, calling out:
"Dinner is now being served in the dining car. First call for dinner!"
"Well, it's up to me to go to grub now," thought Roy. "I wonder how I'll make out?"
"Are you going to eat on the first call?" asked Mr. Baker, rising from his comfortable chair and looking at Roy.
"I don't know—I think—Yes, I guess I will."
It suddenly occurred to the boy that he might take advantage of the acquaintance he had formed with the man, and observe just how he ought to conduct himself in the dining car.
"I shall be glad of your company," spoke Mr. Baker, with a pleasant smile. "Will you sit at my table?"
"I'm not so very hungry," remarked Roy, thinking that if he found things too strange he could call for something simple, though the truth was he had an excellent appetite.
"I am not either," declared Mr. Baker. "I never eat much while traveling, but I think it best to have my meals regularly. Now, if you'll come with me, we'll see what they have at this traveling hotel."
He led the way from the parlor to the dining car. If Roy had been astonished at the magnificence of the first coach he was doubly so at the scene which now met his eyes.
Arranged along both sides of the dining car, next to the broad, high windows, were small tables, sparkling with cut-glass and silver. In the center of each table was a small pot of graceful ferns, while throughout the car there were fine hangings, beautifully inlaid wood, and on the floor a soft carpet. It was, indeed, a fine traveling hotel.
At the tables, not all of which were occupied, were seated beautiful women, some handsomely gowned, and there were men, attired in the height of fashion. For the first time Roy felt rather ashamed of his ordinary "store" clothes, which were neither properly cut, nor of good material.
"Here is a good table," said Mr. Baker, indicating one about the center of the car.
Roy took his seat opposite his new acquaintance, a queer feeling of nervousness overcoming him.
"I'd rather ride a bucking bronco any day, than be here," the boy thought. But he was not going to back out now. He knew he had the money to pay for whatever he ordered, and, he reflected that if he was not as stylishly dressed as the others, he was probably more hungry than any of them, for he had an early breakfast.
As soon as Roy and Mr. Baker were seated, a colored waiter glided swiftly to their table and filled their glasses from a curiously shaped vessel, called a "caraffe," which looked something like a bottle or flask, with a very large body, and a very small neck. Inside was a solid lump of ice, which made the water cold. Roy looked curiously at the piece of frozen crystal. Mr. Baker noted his look of astonishment.
"Don't you like ice water?" he asked.
"Yes, but I was wondering how in the world they ever got that big hunk of ice through the little neck of that bottle."
"Oh," exclaimed Mr. Baker with a laugh, "they first fill the caraffe with water, and then they freeze it in an ice machine they have on the train for keeping the other supplies from spoiling. It would be rather difficult to put that chunk of ice down through that narrow neck."
Roy understood now. He began to think he had lots to learn of the world, but there was more coming. The waiter placed a menu card in front of Mr. Baker, and laid one at Roy's plate. He knew what they were, for he had several times taken dinner at a small hotel at Painted Stone.
He was not prepared however for the queer language in which the menu card or bill of fare was printed. It was French, and the names of the most ordinary dishes were in that foreign tongue.
Roy was puzzled. He wanted a substantial meal, but he did not know how to order it. He was afraid to try to pronounce the odd looking words, and I am afraid if he had done so he would have made a mistake, as, indeed, better educated persons than he would have done. He had a wild notion of telling the waiter to bring everything on the bill of fare, but there seemed to be too many dishes.
Finally he decided on a course to pursue. The waiter was standing there, polite and all attention, for, though Roy's clothes did not impress him as indicating a lad of wealth, Mr. Baker's attire was showy enough to allow the colored man to think he might receive a handsome tip.
"I think I'll have a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee," said Roy in desperation. He knew he was safe in ordering that, even if it was not on the card, though it might have been for all he knew, disguised under some odd name.
Mr. Baker looked surprised.
"I should say you hadn't any appetite," he remarked. Then, as he understood the situation, and Roy's embarrassment, he said: "Suppose I order for both of us? I am used to this sort of thing."
Roy was grateful for this delicate way of putting it, and, with a sigh of relief, he replied:
"I wish you would. I guess I've got a good appetite after all."
Thereupon Mr. Baker ordered a simple but substantial meal, including soup, fish, roast beef, potatoes and side dishes of vegetables, ending up with coffee and pie.
"This is fine!" exclaimed Roy, when he had finished. "I s'pose they charge about two dollars for grub like this?"
Several persons in the dining car smiled, for Roy was used to shouting at cattle, and calling to cowboys, and had acquired a habit of speaking in rather loud tones.
"No, this 'grub' will cost you one dollar," said Mr. Baker.
"Well, it's worth it," declared the boy, pulling out quite a roll of bills, for his father had been generous. At the sight of the money a greedy look came into the eyes of Mr. Baker, a look that would have warned Roy had he seen it. But he was busy looking for a one-dollar bill among the fives and tens.
"Now, if you're ready we'll go back to the parlor car, and have a cigar in the smoking room," suggested Mr. Baker.
"No, thank you. Not for mine. I don't smoke."
"Well, it is a useless habit I suppose, but I am too old to change now. I'll join you presently," and the man went into a small compartment at one end of the parlor car, when they reached it, leaving Roy to go to his chair alone.
Had the boy seen the three men whom Mr. Baker greeted in the smoking room, perhaps our hero would not have been quite so ready to continue his acquaintance with the man. For, in the little apartment were three individuals whose faces did not indicate any too much honesty, and whose clothes were on the same "flashy" order as were Mr. Baker's, though none of the trio had as expensive jewelry as had Roy's new friend.
"Well, sport, how about you?" asked one of the men. "Did you manage to pick up anything?"
"Not so loud, Ike," cautioned Mr. Baker, addressing the man who had spoken, and whose name was Isaac Sutton. "I think I can put you on the track of something."
"Something good?" asked the third man, who was known as Jerome Hynard, though that was not his real name.
"We want it with plenty of cash," added the last man, who was called Dennison Tupper.
"This is a green kid, right from the ranch, going to New York," said Phelan Baker. "He's got quite a wad of money, and if you work the game right you may be able to get the most of it. I'll tell you how."
Then the four began to whisper, for they were laying a plot and were afraid of being overheard. All unconscious of the danger that threatened him, Roy was back in the parlor car, enjoying the scenery, and thinking of the many strange things he would see in New York.
For some reason Mr. Baker did not come back where Roy was. Perhaps he feared the boy might be suspicious of his sudden friendship, for Mr. Baker was a good reader of character, and he saw that Roy, in spite of his lack of experience, was a shrewd lad.
As for the young traveler, he began to get tired. He was unused to sitting still so long, and riding in a soft chair was very different from being on the back of the swift pony, galloping over the plains.
"I wonder what they're going to do about bunks?" thought Roy, as he looked about the car. "I don't fancy sleeping on these chairs, and I've heard they made the seats in the coaches up into bunks."
Roy had never seen a sleeping car, and imagined the coach he was in was one. He decided he would ask the porter about it soon, if he saw no signs of the beds being made up. He had his supper alone at a table in the dining car, Mr. Baker remaining with his three cronies, and out of Roy's sight. Profiting by his experience at dinner, the boy knew how to order a good meal.
To his relief, soon after he got back to the parlor car, the porter who had first spoken to him, came up and announced:
"Youh berth will be ready any time youh want it, sah."
"Berth?"
"Yais, sah."
Roy did not know exactly what was meant. At the ranch that word was never used, a bed being a "bunk."
"I don't think I care for any," said Roy, deciding that was the safest way.
"What's that, sah? Youh ain't goin to sit up all night, be youh? Mighty uncomfortable, sah. Better take a bed. Youh ticket calls fo' one, sah."
"Oh, you mean a bunk?"
"Bunk! Ha! Ha! Youh western gen'men gwine to hab youh joke, I see. We calls 'em berths, sah."
"Is mine ready?"
"Jest as soon as youh want it. Youh can go back in de sleeping car."
This Roy understood. He went back two coaches toward the rear, as directed by the porter, and found himself in still another kind of car. This had big plush seats, like small couches, facing each other, while, overhead, was a sort of sloping ceiling.
"I don't see where there are many bunks here," the boy remarked to himself. He saw persons sitting in the seats, talking, and, finding one unoccupied, he took possession of it. Soon a porter came in to him, examined his ticket, and asked:
"Do youh wish youh berth made up now, sah?"
"Guess I might as well," replied Roy, wondering where the porter was going to get the bed from, and whether he was going to produce it from some unseen source, as a conjurer pulls rabbits out of tall hats.
"Ef youh jest kindly take the next seat, I'll make up your berth," said the porter, and Roy moved back one place, but where he could still watch the colored man.
That individual then proceeded to make up the berth. While the process is familiar to many of my young readers, it was a novelty to Roy. With much wonder he watched the man lift up the cushions of the seats, take out blankets and pillows from the hollow places, and then slide the two bottoms of the seats together until they made a level place.
Then what Roy had thought to be merely a slanting part of the ceiling was pulled down, revealing a broad shelf, that formed the upper berth or bed. On this shelf were sheets, blankets and other things needed for the beds. In a short time Roy saw made before his eyes, where there had been only seats before, a comfortable "bunk" with pillows, white sheets, blankets, curtains hanging down in front and all complete.
"Now youh can turn in," said the porter with a smile, as he began to make up another berth. Roy decided to wait a while, until he saw how other men travelers undressed, and when he saw one man retire behind the curtains, and, sitting on the edge of his berth, take off his shoes, and the heavier parts of his clothing, Roy did likewise. Thus the difficult problem of getting to bed was solved.
Stretching out in the comfortable berth Roy thought he would soon fall asleep, as he was quite tired. But the novelty of his ride, the strange sensation of being whirled along many miles an hour while lying in bed, proved too much for him, and he found himself still wide-awake, though he had been in the berth an hour or more.
The noise of the wheels, the rumble of the train, the click-clack as the wheels passed over rail joints or switches, the bumping and swaying motion, all served to drive sleep away from Roy's eyes.
He thought of many things, of what he would do when he got to New York, of his father, of Caleb Annister, and what he should say to the New Yorker. Finally, however, the very monotony of the noises began to make him feel drowsy. In a little while he found his eyes closing, and then, almost before he knew it, he was asleep.
Meanwhile, back in the smoking room, the three men and Mr. Baker were talking over their cigars. One of them produced a pack of cards, and they began to play.
"Maybe if Isaac's game doesn't work, we can get him with these," suggested Mr. Baker, as he dealt the pasteboards to his companions.
"Maybe," agreed Hynard. "What time is Ike going to try it?"
"About two o'clock. He'll be sure to be asleep then."
Back in his berth, some hours after this, Roy was dreaming that he was being shaken in his bunk at the ranch house. He thought Billy Carew was urging him to get up early to go off on a round-up, and Roy was trying to drive the sleep away from his eyes, and comply.
Suddenly he knew it was not a dream, but that some one was moving him, though very gently. Then he became aware that a hand was being cautiously thrust under his pillow.
Roy did not stop to think—he acted. His instant impression was of thieves, and he did the most natural thing under the circumstances. He grabbed the hand that was being gently shoved under his pillow.
Instantly the wrist, which his fingers clasped, was snatched away, withdrawn from the curtains, and a voice exclaimed:
"Beg pardon. I was looking for your ticket. I'm the conductor. It's all right."
Roy thought the voice did not sound a bit like the voice of the conductor, who had spoken to him some time before. Nor could the boy understand why a conductor should be feeling under his pillow for his ticket, when Roy had, as was the custom, given him the bits of pasteboard, including his berth check, earlier in the evening. The conductor had said he would keep them until morning, to avoid the necessity of waking Roy up to look at them during the night.
"That's queer," thought the boy.
He sat up in bed, and thrust his head through the curtains that hung down in front of his berth. Down the aisle, which was dimly lighted, he saw a man hurrying toward the end of the car—the end where the smoking apartment was.
"That wasn't the conductor," said Roy to himself. "He has two brass buttons on the back of coat, and this chap hasn't any. I believe he was a thief, after my money. Lucky I didn't put it under my pillow, or he'd have it now. I must be on the watch. No wonder Billy Carew warned me to be careful. I wonder who that fellow was?"
Roy had half a notion to get up and inform a porter or the conductor what had happened, but he did not like to dress in the middle of the night, and go hunting through the sleeping car for someone to speak to about the matter.
"I'll just be on the watch," thought Roy, "and if he comes back I'll be ready for him."
However, he was not further disturbed that night, and soon fell asleep again, not forgetting, however, the precaution of hiding his pocketbook in the middle of his bed, under the blankets, where, if thieves tried to take it, they would first have to get him out of the berth.
Roy awakened shortly after sunrise the next morning. He was accustomed to early rising at the ranch, and this habit still clung to him. He managed to dress, while sitting on the edge of his berth, and then he reached down under the edge of it on the floor of the car, where, the night before, he had left his shoes. To his surprise they were gone.
"That's funny," he thought. "I wonder if the fellow who didn't get my money, took my shoes for spite?"
To make sure he stepped out into the aisle in his stocking feet, and looked under his berth. His shoes were not to be seen.
"Now I am in a pickle," thought the boy. "How am I going all the way to New York without shoes? I can't go out in my stocking feet to get a new pair, and I don't suppose there are any stores near the stations, where I could buy new ones. But that's the only thing I can do. I wonder if the train would wait long enough until I could send one of the porters to a store for a pair of shoes? It would be a funny thing to do, I guess, and, besides, he wouldn't know what size to get. I certainly am up against it!"
As Roy stood in the curtained aisle of the car, all alone, for none of the other travelers were up yet, he saw a colored porter approaching. Something in the boy's manner prompted the man to ask:
"Can I do anything fo' youh, sah? You'se up early, sah."
"I am looking for my shoes."
"Oh, youh shoes. I took 'em, sah."
"You took 'em? What right have you taking my shoes? Haven't you got any of your own?" and Roy spoke sternly, for he thought this was too much; first an attempt made to rob him of his money, and then some one stealing his shoes.
"Where are they?" he went on. "I want 'em."
"Yais, sah. Right away, sah. I jest took 'em a little while ago to blacken 'em, sah. I allers does that to the gen'men's shoes. I'll have 'em right back. Did youh think I done stole 'em, sah?"
"That's what I did," replied Roy with a smile. "I thought I'd have to go to New York in my stocking feet."
"Ob, no indeedy, sah. I allers goes around and collects the gen'men's shoes early, 'fore they gits up. I takes 'em back to my place and I blacks 'em. Den I brings 'em back."
"That's quite an idea," said Roy, now noticing that from under the berths of his fellow travelers the shoes were all missing.
"Yais, sah," went on the colored man. "And sometimes, sah, sometimes, youh know, de gen'men's gives me a little remembrance, sah, for blackenin' their shoes."
"Then I'll do the same," spoke Roy, remembering what Billy Carew had told him of the necessity for "tipping" the car porters.
"Thank youh, sah. I'll have youh shoes back d'rectly, sah."
The porter was as good as his word, and soon Roy was able to put on his shoes, which he hardly recognized. The dust that had accumulated from his ride across the plains to the railroad depot had all been removed, and the leather shone brightly. He gave the porter a quarter of a dollar, for which the colored man returned profuse thanks. Soon the other travelers began to get up. Roy watched them go to the washroom and did likewise. He met Mr. Baker in there, and accepted an invitation to go to breakfast with him in the dining car.
"Did you sleep well last night?" asked the man with the big watch chain.
"Pretty well," replied Roy, deciding to say nothing of the hand that was thrust under his pillow. He first wanted to make a few observations of his fellow passengers.
After breakfast, when Roy was sitting in his chair in the parlor car, Mr. Baker approached.
"There are some friends of mine in the smoking room," he said to the boy. "I would like to introduce you to them."
"That is very kind of you," replied the young traveler. "I shall be glad to meet them," for Roy considered it nice on the part of Mr. Baker to take so much interest in him.
"We can have a pleasant chat together," went on the man as he led the way to a private room or "section" as they are called. This was near the smoking room end of the car. "My friends are much interested in ranch life, and perhaps you will give them some information."
The three men in the compartment looked up as Phelan Baker and Roy entered. They exchanged significant glances, but the boy from the ranch did not notice them. Then the men made room for the new-comers on the richly upholstered couches.
"Ah, how are you, Baker?" said Isaac Sutton. "Glad to see you."
"Allow me to introduce a friend of mine," said Mr. Baker presenting Roy to the three men in turn. "He can tell you all you want to know about ranch life," for, by skillful questioning Mr. Baker had learned more about Roy than the lad was aware he had told.
"That's good," remarked Jerome Hynard. "I may decide to buy a ranch, some day."
"Would you say it was a healthy sort of life?" asked Dennison Tupper, who was quite pale, and looked as if he had some illness.
"It was very healthy out where I was," answered Roy.
"I guess one look at you proves that," put in Mr. Baker, in an admiring tone. "You seem as strong and hardy as a young ox."
"Yes, and I eat like one, when I'm on a round-up," said the boy.
There was considerable more conversation, the men asking Roy many questions about western life, and showing an interest in the affairs of the ranch. Roy answered them to the best of his ability, and naturally was pleased that the men should think him capable of giving them information.
Finally, when the conversation began to lag a bit, Dennison Tupper remarked:
"Perhaps our young friend would have no objections if we gentlemen played a game of cards to pass away the time."
"Certainly I have no objections to your playing," said Roy, who had often watched the cowboys at the ranch play various games.
Once more the four men exchanged glances. Mr. Baker produced a pack of cards and soon the travelers were deep in the game. They did not seem to be gambling, only playing for "fun" as they called it.
"Oh, I believe I'm tired. I'm going to drop out," suddenly remarked Mr. Baker.
"Oh, don't do that," expostulated Sutton.
"No, you'll break up the game," remonstrated Tupper.
"Of course. Three can't play whist very well," added Hynard in rather ungracious tones. "Be a good fellow and stay in the game, Baker."
"No, I'm tired."
"Perhaps our young friend from the ranch will take your place," suggested Sutton. "Will you—er—Mr. Bradner? We'll play for love or money, just as you like. You must be a sport—all the western chaps are. Come on, sit in the game, take Mr. Baker's place and don't let it break up."
It was a cunning appeal, addressed both to Roy's desire to be of service to his new friends, and also to his vanity. Fortunately he was proof against both. Roy had watched the men playing cards, and, to his mind they showed altogether too much skill. They acted more like regular gamblers than like persons playing to pass away an idle hour. He was at once suspicious.
"No, thank you," he said. "I never play cards, for love or money."
Something seemed to annoy at least three of the men, and they looked at Mr. Baker.
"Why I thought you said—" began Tupper, winking at the man who had first made Roy's acquaintance.
"Dry up!" exclaimed Hynard. "That's all right," he added quickly to the boy. "We don't want any one to play against his will. It's all right. We only thought maybe you'd like to pass away the time. I dare say Baker will stick in the game now."
"Oh, yes, I'll stay to oblige you, but I don't care for it," and pretending to suppress a yawn, Mr. Baker again took his seat at the small card table. A little later Roy left the apartment, going back to his place in the parlor car.
"I don't like those three men," he said to himself. "I believe they are professional gamblers. Mr. Baker seems nice, but I wouldn't trust the others."
As for the four men whom Roy had left, they seemed to lose all interest in their game, after the boy from the ranch was out of sight.
"Humph!" exclaimed Hynard. "That didn't work, did it?"
"No more than Isaac's attempt last night to get—" began Tupper, but Sutton silenced him with a gesture.
"Hush! Not so loud!" he said. "Some one may hear you."
"Leave it to me," said Mr. Baker. "I think I can get him into something else soon. You fellows lay low until I give you the tip."
The rest of that morning Roy saw nothing of the men whose acquaintance he had made. He got into conversation with several other passengers, some of whom were interesting characters. One man, who had traveled extensively, pointed out, along the way, the various scenes of note, telling Roy something about them.
It was after dinner when Mr. Phelan Baker, followed by his three friends, entered the parlor car. They took seats near where Roy had chanced to rest.
"Traveling is rather dull, isn't it?' began Mr. Baker.
"I don't find it so," replied Roy.
"No, that's because it's your first journey. Wait until you have crossed the continent a dozen times, and you'll begin to wish you'd never seen it."
"It seems to me there is always something of interest," said the boy.
"Probably there is, if your eyesight is good, and you can see it. I'm getting along in years, and I can't see objects as well as I once could."
"I suppose you must have pretty good eyesight, haven't you?" asked Sutton, abruptly taking part in the conversation. Roy and the four men were all alone in one end of the car, the other passengers, with but few exceptions, having gotten off at various stations.
"Well, I reckon I don't need glasses to see the brand on a steer," replied Roy.
"That's so, and I guess you have to be pretty quick to distinguish the different branding marks, don't you?"
"You do when you're cutting out a bunch of cattle after a round-up. They keep moving around so it's hard to tell which are yours, and which belong to another ranch."
"What did I tell you?" asked Sutton in triumph of Hynard, who sat next to him.
"Well, you're right," admitted the other.
Roy looked a little surprised at this conversation. Mr. Baker explained.
"My two friends here were having a little dispute about eyesight," he said. "Mr. Sutton said you had the best eyesight of any one he ever saw, and were quick to notice anything. He said you had to be to work on a cattle range."
"And Mr. Hynard said he believed he had as good eyesight as you," put in Tupper.
"I told him he hadn't, and we agreed to ask you," went on Sutton.
"That's all right. His saying so doesn't prove it," remarked Hynard, in a somewhat surly tone.
"Of course not, but it doesn't take much to see that he has better eyesight than you, and is quicker with it. He has to be to use a lasso, don't you, Mr. Bradner?"
"Well, it does take a pretty quick eye and hand to get a steer when he's on the run," admitted Roy.
"And you can do it, I'll bet. Hynard, you're not in it with this lad."
"I believe I am!"
"Now don't get excited," advised Mr. Baker, in soothing tones. "We can easily settle this matter."
"How? We haven't got a lasso here, nor a wild steer," said Hynard. "Anyhow I don't claim I can throw a lariat as well as he can. I only said I had as quick eyesight."
"Well, we can prove that," went on Mr. Baker.
"How?"
"Easy money. Let's see. This windowsill will do."
From his pocket Mr. Baker produced three halves of English walnut shells, and a small black ball, about the size of a buck shot. It seemed to be made of rubber.
"Here's a little trick that will prove any one's eyesight," he said. "The eye doctors in New York use it to test any person who needs glasses. A doctor friend of mine gave me this."
"How do you work it?" asked Hynard, seemingly much interested.
"This way. I place these three shells on the windowsill, so. Then I put the little ball under one. Watch me closely. I move it quite fast, first putting it under one shell, then the other. Now, I stop and, Hynard, tell me which shell it's under! I don't believe you can, I think my young friend can do so."
"All right," agreed Hynard.
"Which shell is the ball under?" asked Mr. Baker, drawing back, and leaving the three shells in a row; they all looked alike, yet Roy was sure the ball was under the middle one.
"It's under there!" exclaimed Hynard, putting his finger on the end shell nearest Roy.
"Is it?" asked Mr. Baker with a laugh, as he raised it up, and showed nothing beneath. "Now let Mr. Bradner try."
"I think it's there," spoke the boy, indicating the middle shell.
"Right you are," came from Mr. Baker, as he lifted the shell, and disclosed the ball.
"Well, it's easier to pick the right one out of two, than out of three," remonstrated Hynard.
"All right. I'll give him first pick this time," and once more Mr. Baker manipulated the shells and ball.
"Now where is it?" he asked Roy quickly. The boy, who was quite taken with the new trick, was eagerly leaning forward, watching with eyes that little escaped, the movements of Mr. Baker's fingers.
"It's there," he said quietly, indicating the shell farthest away from him.
"What did I tell you?" asked Mr. Baker, lifting the shell and showing that Roy was right.
"He's got you beat, Hynard," said Sutton.
"Well, I'll bet he can't do it again."
Roy did, much to his own amusement.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Hynard suddenly. "I'll bet you five dollars I can do it this time, Baker."
"Very well, I'll go you."
The money was put up, the shells shifted, and Hynard made his choice. He got the right shell.
"There's where I lose five dollars," said Mr. Baker, with regret, passing the bill to Hynard.
"You try him," whispered Tupper to Roy. "You can guess right every time. Bet him ten dollars. You can't make money easier."
All at once the real meaning of what had just taken place was revealed to Roy. The men wanted him to gamble, under the guise of a trick. And he was sharp enough to know that once he bet any money, the shell he would pick out would have no ball under it. In fact, had he taken the bait and bet, Mr. Baker, by a sleight-of-hand trick, would not have put the ball under any shell so that, no matter which one Roy selected, he would have been wrong, and would have lost, though they might have let him win once or twice, just to urge him on. Understanding what the trick was, he exclaimed:
"I don't think I care to bet any money. I have proved that I have quick eyesight, and I think that's all you wanted to know," and, turning away he went back to his chair, at the farther end of the car.
For a few seconds the four men were too surprised to say anything. They stood looking at each other and, when they had gone to the smoking room, with an angry glance at Mr. Baker, Sutton remarked:
"I thought you said the kid would bite at this game?"
"I thought he would."
"Well, you've got another 'think' coming."
"Yes, you've bungled this thing all the way through," added Hynard.
"I didn't blunder any more than you did. I'd like to know who first made his acquaintance, and found out he had money."
"Well, you did that part of it, but he's got his money yet, and we haven't," said Tupper.
"And we're not likely to get it," went on Hynard. "I think he'll be suspicious of us after this."
"Maybe not," remarked Sutton, hopefully. "We may be able to get him into some other kind of a game. If we can't—"
He did not finish, but the other men knew what he meant. Roy had incurred the enmity of some dangerous characters, and it behooved him to be on the lookout.
The boy had not been in his seat many minutes before an elderly gentleman, the one who had been describing the various scenes of interest, came up to him.
"Did I see you playing some game with those men just now?" he asked.
"They were showing me a game," answered Roy. "They said they wanted to test my quick eyesight."
"What was it?"
"It was a game with three shells and a small ball."
"I thought so. My boy, do you know what that game is called?"
"No, sir, but I didn't care to play it the way they wanted me to. They wanted me to bet money."
"And you refused?"
"I sure did."
"That is where you were right. That is an old swindling trick, called the 'shell game'. If you had bet any money you would have lost."
"I thought as much," said Roy. "I'm not so green as I look, even if I spent all my life on a ranch."
"Indeed you are not, I am glad to see. I would advise you not to have anything more to do with those men."
"Do you know them?"
"No, but they have the ways and airs of professional gamblers."
"They tried to rope me up, I guess," said Roy. "But they didn't have rope enough to tie me. Now I know their brand I'll sure be careful not to mix in with 'em."
"I don't exactly understand your terms. I—"
"I beg your pardon," said Roy. "I suppose I talk, more or less, as I do on the ranch. I meant they tried to get me into one of their corrals and take my hide off. Hold me up, you know."
"I'm afraid I don't exactly know," went on the gentleman with a smile, "but I gather that you mean they would have robbed you, after getting you into their power."
"That's it," said Roy. "I'm on another trail now, and they want to be careful," and he looked as though he could take care of himself, a fact that the gentleman noticed.
"I felt like warning you, my boy," he said, "as I saw it was your first long journey."
"And I'm much obliged to you," said Roy. "I wonder how everyone knows I'm a tenderfoot when it comes to traveling on railroad trains?"
"A tenderfoot?"
"Yes, that's what we call persons who don't know much about western life. I suppose their feet get tender from taking such long walks on the plains. Anyhow that means a sort of 'greenhorn' I suppose. Everyone on the train spots me for that."
"Well, it is easy to see you are not used to traveling, for you take so much interest in everything, and you show that it is new to you. But you are learning fast. Even an experienced traveler might have been taken in by those gamblers."
"I guess they'll not bother me any more," said Roy.
And he was right, but only to a certain extent, for, though the gamblers did not "bother" him again, he had not seen the last of them, as you shall see.
The tricksters were in a bad mood, and, soon after that they left the smoking room, and remained in another car, so Roy did not see them again that day.
The express continued on, bringing the boy nearer and nearer to Chicago. He wished he might have a little time to spend there, as he had heard much of it, especially the stock yards, where his father sent many head of cattle in the course of a year. But Roy knew he must hurry on to New York, to attend to the business on which he had been sent.
The next morning, soon after breakfast, the train came to a sudden stop, near a small railroad station. As the express did not stop, except at the large cities, Roy wondered if some one like himself, had flagged the engineer. Soon he was aware, however, that something unusual had occurred. Passengers began leaving their seats, and went out of the cars.
"I wonder what's the matter?" Roy said aloud. He was overheard by the gentleman who had talked to him about the gamblers, and who had given his name, as John Armstrong.
"I think we've had an accident," said Mr. Armstrong.
"An accident? Is anybody killed?"
"No, I do not think so. Suppose we get out and see what the trouble is?"
They left their seats, and joined the other passengers who were walking toward the head of the train, which was a long one. It did not take many seconds to ascertain that an accident had occurred to the engine of the express, and that it would be necessary to send to the next station to get materials to make repairs.
"That means we'll be held here for some time," observed Mr. Armstrong. "Well, if the delay is not too long, it will give you a chance to walk about and stretch your muscles."
"And I'll be glad enough to do it," replied Roy. "I'm not used to sitting still, and it sure is very tiresome to me. I'd like to have my pony, Jack Rabbit, here now. I'd take a fine gallop."
"Well, I think a walk will have to answer in place of it now. There does not seem to be much in the way of amusements at this station."
The depot was a mere shanty, with a small telegraph and ticket office in it. A few houses and a store made up the "town," which was located on the plains.
As Roy started toward the depot many of the passengers got back in their cars, as the sun was hot. Roy, however, rather enjoyed it. Among those who had alighted were Mr. Baker and his three cronies. They stood on the depot platform, talking together.
"Maybe they're trying to get up some new scheme to get me to gamble," thought Roy. As he neared the station his attention was attracted by a rather curious figure.
This was a young man whom Roy at once characterized as a "dude," for he and the cowboys had been in the habit of so calling any one who was as well dressed as was the stranger. And Roy at once knew that the man had not been on the train before, as the boy from the ranch had seen all the passengers during his journey.
The "tenderfoot", as Roy also characterized him, was attired in a light suit, the trousers very much creased. He had on a purple necktie, rather a high collar, and patent leather shoes. In his hand he carried a light cane, and in one eye was a glass, called a monocle. Beside him was a dress-suit case, and he looked as if he was ready to travel.
Roy glanced at him, and was inclined to smile at the elaborate costume of the youth, for the western lad had the usual cattleman's contempt for fashionable clothes, arguing (not always rightly) that a person who paid so much attention to dress could not amount to a great deal.
The young man stood leaning against the side of the depot, carelessly swinging his cane. Roy could see he had a valuable watch chain across his vest, and, in his tie there sparkled what was presumably a diamond.
As Roy watched he saw Baker and his three cronies approach the "dude." A moment later they had engaged him in conversation.
"I'll bet they're up to some game," mused Roy. "I wonder if I can find out what it is, and spoil it? I believe they will try to get the best of that 'tenderfoot.' Guess I'll see what's up."