THE SECOND SECTION
Jerry Hopkins for an instant or two was rather sorry he had urged
the professor to continue on with him and his companions to Thunder
Mountain. At first the scientist had planned to come only as far as
Chicago with the boys, to get the benefit of riding in the open air.
But the trip from Cresville did him so much good and he seemed so happy
at being back with his young friends and so glad of the chance to
collect specimens, that Jerry had said:
“Why not come all the way to Montana with us? We shall be in the open
air most of the time.
“But if this is a hold-up,” mused Jerry, as he began an observation,
“and the professor is going to be robbed, he won’t thank me for having
persuaded him to come along.”
By this time the tall lad was out in the aisle of the car, clad only in
his pajamas, but as there happened to be no ladies in the sleeper this
was not embarrassing to the lad. He saw the little scientist reaching
in between the green curtains that hid the occupant of the upper
section from sight.
But though this occupant, whom Jerry remembered as the fat man, was
unseen, he was not unheard, for he continued to yell:
“Help! Porter! Conductor! I’m being robbed! Some one is after my watch
and pocketbook!”
Undoubtedly the professor had his hands in among the bed clothes of
the fat man’s berth. Uriah Snodgrass was standing on the little ladder
which the porter brings when one has to climb in or out of an upper
berth.
“What’s the matter, Professor?” asked Jerry, though he thought he could
guess without being told what had happened.
“One of my most valuable specimens--a black pinching beetle which I
have been keeping alive in order to study its wing action--has just got
away from me!” explained the former instructor at Boxwood Hall. “I saw
it crawling up into this berth, and I want to get it back. It is a very
large beetle, with enormous pinching jaws and----”
“Ow! Oh, something hit me! I’m shot! He used a silencer on his gun
and shot me!” cried the fat man, sticking his head out between the
curtains. “I’m shot, conductor!” he cried, as that official entered the
car, followed by the porter who had emerged from his “den.”
“You aren’t shot!” exclaimed the professor. “That’s probably my beetle
pinching you. Where did you feel the pain?”
“Here! On my arm! Oh, there it goes again!”
He extended a fat arm, and, the pajama sleeve falling back, there was
revealed a large black bug firmly fixed in the soft flesh of the heavy
man.
“Yes, there he is, the beauty!” exclaimed the scientist. “Just a moment
now, I’ll have him!” Quickly and skillfully Uriah Snodgrass transferred
the beetle from the fat man’s arm to a glass-topped specimen box, and
then the little scientist climbed down off the ladder.
Jerry wanted to laugh but dared not, while Bob and Ned, looking from
their berths, were in the same predicament. As for Bill Cromley, he did
not stir. As he announced later, when he went to bed to sleep he did
that and nothing else.
“What’s all the row?” asked the conductor, while some other passengers,
heads sticking out of their berths, looked on interestedly.
“I was awakened by feeling a hand moving about under my pillow,”
explained the fat man. “I thought a robber was after my pocketbook and
watch. I called an alarm. Then I felt a pain in my arm and I thought I
had been shot, but, as I heard no report, I judged a silencer had been
used on the robber’s gun. But if it was only a bug----”
“It was my black beetle,” explained Professor Snodgrass patiently. “I
am very sorry, sir, but I could not let it get away. I saw it crawl up
into your berth and I thought I could get it back without awakening
you. I am sorry. By the way, the bite of this insect is harmless.”
“Um! Well, it isn’t painless, at all events,” said the fat man, rubbing
his arm.
“I regret it exceedingly, sir,” went on the scientist. “If you will
allow me----”
He took from his pocket a small tin box which contained some soothing
ointment and smeared the red spots on the fat man’s arm, for the beetle
had pinched in two places.
“That will relieve the pain,” said Uriah Snodgrass. “I use it myself,
and I have been bitten by hundreds of beetles.” He said this with an
air of pride, as one might boast of battle wounds.
“Um,” murmured the fat man, his feelings a little mollified as the pain
eased after the application of the ointment. “Well, I’m glad you have
your bug back. I don’t want to sleep with it.”
He ducked back into his berth and Jerry returned to his, looking out to
say:
“Better turn in, Professor,” for the little scientist had not yet
undressed.
“I will, Jerry, right away. I am so glad to get back that black beetle.”
“You’re no gladder than I am,” chuckled the fat man behind the curtains
of his berth. And from the fact that he laughed it might be argued that
he harbored no ill feelings. Which was the case, for the next day he
and the professor became fast friends.
The remainder of the night passed without incident, and morning found
the travelers well on their way to Thunder Mountain. They had traveled
so much that it might be supposed such life had in it nothing novel for
the Motor Boys. But they were not spoiled, and took a keen interest in
everything that went on around them.
They even helped Professor Snodgrass capture some specimens of a
peculiar fly that invaded the car when the train was passing through a
wooded section.
“I’m glad we don’t have to worry about Noddy Nixon and those two
unlovely specimens that were traveling with him,” observed Bob one day
as he and his chums came from the dining car.
“That’s right,” added Ned. “We gave them the slip good and proper.
Noddy sure had his nerve with him to follow us and try to get Bill away
from us.”
“I’ll say he did!” declared Jerry.
“You fellows don’t ever need to worry about me throwing in with that
skunk!” declared the old miner. “I’m with you from now on, and I won’t
as much as speak to Noddy Nixon if I see him.”
“I guess we aren’t likely to see him,” remarked Ned.
Mile after mile was reeled off by the clicking wheels and, in due
season, allowing for a half day’s delay caused by a freight wreck, the
travelers reached Livingston, Montana. This is a small station and is
where tourists change to take a train that carries them to Yellowstone
Park, that land of wonders.
However, the Motor Boys were more interested in looking for Tinny
Mallison, who had promised to meet them here, than they were in the
sight of many travelers alighting to change cars for the Yellowstone.
“There he is! I see him!” cried Ned, waving his hand toward a tall,
bronzed young man who hurried forward from a touring car at the sight
of the boys.
“Howdy, boys! Glad you’re here!” called the former officer, as he
came near. All formality was forgotten now, of course, since the war
was over. They were just friends--no longer officer and non-com. and
privates.
“Everything all right?” asked Tinny, as he shook hands with the lads.
“Have a good trip and everything?”
“Yes, except that one of the dining car cooks broke down and had to go
to the hospital,” said Ned, with a grave face.
“Had to go to the hospital!” repeated Mallison. “Why----”
“Chunky ate so much that the poor cook never got any rest night or
day,” went on Ned, with a serious face, which broke into a smile,
however, at the sign of a grin on Tinny’s face.
“You low-down, onery, white-livered specimen of a--” began Bob, but Ned
ducked out of the way in time.
Then there was laughter, following which Tinny was introduced to
Professor Snodgrass and Bill Cromley.
“I have heard the boys speak of you, Professor,” said the Westerner. “I
am glad to meet you, Mr. Cromley. Have you been West before?”
“I should say he had!” exclaimed Ned. “He used to mine it out this way,
and----”
“I was in the Blue Rock section,” explained Bill Cromley, in answer to
a look from Tinny. “Nothing very big----”
“But there was a big lot of gold in the treasure chest that went over
the ledge!” broke in Jerry. “Tell Mr. Mallison about it, Bill.”
Thereupon the story was told of the lost treasure chest of Blue Rock.
The boys listened eagerly, though they had heard it related before,
but they wanted to judge of its effect on Mallison. Somewhat to their
surprise and regret, he was not favorably impressed.
“Yes,” he said indifferently, “I’ve heard that yarn before. Didn’t I
telegraph not to take stock in Blue Rock? I am inclined to think it’s a
fairy tale.”
“A fairy tale!” cried Bob.
“Yes. I believe the stage driver was in cahoots with some bandits, and
the crowd took the chest away from him.”
“But the stage driver was killed!” exclaimed Bill Cromley. “I knew him.
He was a friend of mine!”
“Well, if that’s the case, I beg your pardon for doubting him,” said
Mallison. “But I can’t help believing there was something crooked in
the whole thing. That could be, and the driver still be innocent. The
bandits may have chased the horses over the cliff to make it look like
an accident so the authorities wouldn’t investigate. It’s a fairy tale,
boys--don’t take any stock in it.”
The lads looked crestfallen, but Bill Cromley said:
“No, you’ll find that it really happened the way I tell you. Hank Moody
was the driver of that stage. He was an honest man, and I believe he
lost his life trying to save the treasure chest.”
“Well, maybe,” said Tinny easily. “But come on, boys, I’ve got my new
car here and we’ll soon be hitting the trail for Thunder Mountain. I
wasn’t sure whether you’d come on the first or second section of the
train. And, by the way, here comes the second section now. Didn’t take
long to catch up to you.”
“No, we were delayed by a wreck,” explained Jerry.
The boys turned idly to observe the passengers getting off the second
section of the express. To their surprise and dismay, alighting from
one of the coaches they saw Noddy Nixon, Jack Pender and Dolt Haven!