A YANKEE FRIEND
Micah Davis was a Yankee, as he proudly told Bob, "born and raised in
New Hampshire," and his shrewd common sense and dry humor stood him
in good stead in the rather lawless environment of Chassada. He was
well acquainted with the unlovely characteristics of the five who had
chased Bob, and when he heard the whole story he promised to look up
the Chinaman and see what he could do for him.
"If he's out of a job, I'd like to hire him," he said. "They're good,
steady workers, and born cooks. He can have the room back of the
store and do his own housekeeping. I'll stop in at Jake's this
afternoon."
Bob was in a fever of fear that he would miss the train, and it was
now a quarter of two. But Mr. Davis assured him that that special
train was always late and that there was "all the time in the world
to get to the station."
"I'm expecting some canned goods to come up from Wayne," he
declared, "and I often go down after such stuff with my wheelbarrow.
Transportation's still limited with us, as you may have guessed. I
calculate the best way to fool those smart Alecs is to put you in an
empty packing case and tote you down. Comes last minute, you can jump
out and there you are!"
Bob thought this a splendid plan, and said so.
"Then here's the very case, marked 'Flame City' on purpose-like," was
the cheery rejoinder. "Help me lift it on the barrow, and then you
climb in, and we'll make tracks. Comfortable? All right, we're off."
He adjusted the light lid over the top of the box, which was
sufficiently roomy to allow Bob to sit down, and the curious journey
began. Apparently it was a common occurrence for Mr. Davis to take a
shipment of goods that way, for no one commented. As the wheelbarrow
grated on the crushed stone that surrounded the station, Bob heard
the voice of the man called Bud.
"One-fifty-two's late, as usual," he called. "That young scalawag
hasn't turned up, either. Guess he's going to keep still till the
last minute and figure on getting away with a dash. The girl's in the
waiting-room."
"I'm surprised you're not in there looking in her suitcase for the
young reprobate," said Mr. Davis with thinly veiled sarcasm. "What
happened? Did Carl order you out?"
Carl, the listening Bob judged, must be the ticket agent.
"I'd like to see that whippersnapper order me out!" blustered Bud.
"There's a whole raft of women in there, waiting for the train."
Mr. Davis carefully lowered the wheelbarrow and leaned carelessly
against the box.
"Guess I'll go in and see the girl--like to know how she looks," he
observed a bit more loudly than was necessary.
Bob understood that he was going to explain to Betty and he thanked
him silently with all his heart.
The friendly Mr. Davis strolled into the waiting-room and had no
difficulty in recognizing Betty Gordon. She was the only girl in the
room, in the first place, and she sat facing the door, a bag on
either side of her, and a world of anxiety in her dark eyes. The
groceryman crossed the floor and took the vacant seat at her right.
There was no one within earshot.
"Don't you be scared, Miss," he said quietly. "I'm Micah Davis, and I
just want to tell you that everything's all right with that Bob boy.
I've got him out here in a box, and when the train comes he's a-going
to hop on board before you can say Jack Robinson."
"Oh, you dear!" Betty turned upon the astonished Mr. Davis with a
radiant smile. "I was worried to death about him, because those
dreadful men have been hanging around the station, and they keep
peering in here. You're so good to help Bob!"
Mr. Davis stammered confusedly that he had done nothing, and then
hurried on to advise Betty to pay no attention to anything that might
happen, but to let the conductor help her on the train.
"I've got to wheel the lad down toward the baggage car," he
explained, "so's they won't suspect. You see, Miss, this is an oil
town and folks do pretty much as they please. If a gang want to beat
up a stranger they don't find much opposition. In a few years we'll
have better order, but just now the toughs have it. Sorry you had to
have this experience."
"I'll always remember Chassada pleasantly because of you," said Betty
impulsively. "Hark! Isn't that the train? Yes, it is. Don't mind
me--go back to Bob. I'm all right, honestly I am!"
They shook hands hurriedly, and Betty followed the other passengers
out to the platform. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Davis placidly
trundling his wheelbarrow down the platform, and then the train
pulled in and the conductor helped her aboard.
"Express?" called the baggage car man as the wheelbarrow was halted
beside the truck on which he was tumbling a pile of boxes.
"Sure, express," retorted Mr. Davis. "Live stock this time. A
passenger for you, with his ticket and all. Let him go through to the
coaches, George. It's all right. He'll explain."
He lifted the lid of the box and Bob stepped out. The baggage man
stared, but he knew and trusted Mr. Davis.
"Don't thank me, lad," said the groceryman kindly as Bob tried to
pour out his thanks. "You're from my part of the country, and any boy
in trouble claims my help. There, there, for goodness' sake, are you
going to miss the train after all the trouble I've taken?"
He pushed Bob gently toward the door of the baggage car and the boy
scrambled in. Then, and not until then, did the vociferous Bud see
what was going on. He dared not tackle the groceryman, but he came
running pellmell down the platform to bray at Bob.
"You big coward!" he yelled. "Sneaking away, aren't you? Just let me
catch you in this town again, and I'll make it so hot for you you'll
wish you'd never left your kindergarten back East."
He was so angry he fairly danced with rage, and Bob and the baggage
man both had to laugh.
"Laugh, you big boob!" howled Bud. "You wouldn't think it so funny
if I had you by the collar. 'Fraid to fight, aren't you? You wait!
Some day I'll get you and I'll--I'll drown you!"
Bud had made an unfortunate choice of punishment, for his words
carried a suggestion to Bob. Mail and express was still being
unloaded, and beside the track was a large puddle of oily, dirty
water apparently from a leaky pipe, for there were no indications of
a recent rain.
With a swift spring, Bob was on his feet beside the surprised Bud,
and, seizing him, whirled him sharply about. Then with a strong push
he sent him flat into the puddle.
Sputtering, gasping, and actually crying with rage, the bully
stumbled to his feet and charged blindly for Bob. That agile youth
had turned and dashed for the train, which was now slowly moving. He
caught the steps of the baggage car and drew himself up. Once on the
platform he turned to wave to Mr. Davis, but that good citizen was
holding back the foaming Bud from dashing himself against the wheels
and did not see Bob's farewell.
"Whew!" gasped Bob, making his way to Betty, after going through an
apparently endless number of cars, "our Western adventures begin with
a rush, don't they? I'm hoping Flame City will be peaceful, for I've
had enough excitement to last me a week."
"I wish Mr. Davis lived in Flame City," said Betty warmly. "I never
knew any one to be kinder. Imagine all the trouble he took for you,
Bob."
Bob agreed that the groceryman was a living example of the Golden
Rule, and then the sight of oil derricks in the distance changed the
trend of their thoughts.
"Where do you suppose those two sharpers--what were their
names?--could have gone?" said Betty. "Seems to me, there are a lot
of unpleasant people out here, after all."
"You mean Blosser and Fluss," replied Bob. "I don't know where they
went, but I'm certain they are not up to anything good. Still, it
isn't fair to say we've come in contact with a lot of unpleasant
people, Betty. All new developments have to fight against the
undesirable element, Mr. Littell says. You see, the prospect of
making money would naturally attract them, and that, coupled with the
possibility of meeting trusting and ignorant souls who have a little
and want to make more, draws the crooks. It has always been that way.
Haven't you read about the things that happened in California when
there was the rush of gold seekers?"
Betty was not especially interested in the gold seekers, but the
glimpses she had had of the oil industry fascinated her. She hoped
that her Uncle Dick would have time to take them around, and she was
divided between an automobile and a horse as the choicest medium of
sightseeing.
"Well, I'd like to ride," declared Bob when she sought his opinion.
"I've always wanted to. But I don't intend to see the sights,
altogether, Betty. I want to find my aunts, and then, if possible,
I'd like to get a job. There must be plenty for a boy to do out
here."
"But you've been working all summer," protested Betty. "You're as
thin as a rail now. I know Uncle Dick won't let you go to work. Why,
Bob, I counted on your going around with me! We can have such fun
together."
"Well, of course, there will be lots of odd hours," Bob comforted
her. "I don't intend to borrow any more money, Betty, that's flat.
And if I don't get my share in the farm, that is, if it proves my
mother never had any sisters and never was entitled to a share of
anything, I don't intend to let that be the end of my ambitions. I'm
going to school, if it takes an arm!"
Betty gazed at him respectfully. Bob, when in earnest, was a very
convincing talker. She wondered for a moment what he would be when he
grew up.
"We're coming into Flame City," he warned her before she could put
this thought into words. "Tip your hat straight, Betsey, and take
the camera. I can manage both bags."
"Oh, I hope Uncle Dick will meet us!" Betty was so excited she bumped
her nose against the glass trying to see out of the window. "Look,
Bob, just see those derricks! This is surely an oil town!"
The brakes went down, and the brakeman at the end of the car flung
the door open.
"Flame City!" he shouted. "All out for Flame City!"