The Passionate Pilgrim
Ralph Marshall’s pilgrimage was in vain. When he reached the place where
the men had been in hiding, every trace of them had disappeared. He might
have thought that he had made a mistake in the spot, except that there
were marks on the ground where the camp fire had been, and he clearly
remembered the circle of small hills.
After remaining in the neighborhood for half an hour or more and seeing
no human being, Ralph knew that his task was not to be so easily
accomplished. But he had no inclination to return and loiter about his
hotel. Even failure was better than boredom, and the last few days had
been intensely dull. Ralph was weary of sightseeing and seldom took an
interest in viewing things alone. He was no longer friendly with Terry
Benton and Howard Brent, whose expressed opinions of him had not been
flattering. And, in spite of Peggy’s generosity, he felt himself cut off
from the companionship of the Camp Fire girls.
Perhaps Ralph did not realize it, but the fact was that he did not care
for the society of the other girls, now that Peggy’s was denied him.
Moreover, even if it were but slight, an ambition had been stirred in him
by Mrs. Burton. Actually he wanted to succeed in what she had asked him
to do. Rarely in his life had he been stirred by this emotion, except
perhaps by the desire to win a game of tennis, or be elected to some
special college fraternity.
Getting on his burro again, Ralph started off in another direction. He
knew that he was traveling toward the line of railroad and supposed he
would find more signs of life there. Certainly he could not discover
less. It was also possible that he might run across some one who would
have known of the dissatisfied men and might at least offer a suggestion
as to what had become of them.
Of course, in finding the strikers one would not necessarily obtain
information of Billy Webster’s proceedings. But, so long as one was under
the impression that he might be spending his time in their society, they
must first be hunted out. Afterwards, if Billy were not with them, then
one could pursue some other idea.
After reaching the railroad line, Ralph jogged along on the road that ran
alongside of it.
The road had been cut through somewhat more open country, nevertheless he
met no one in passing. At present it was past noon, but, although Ralph
was usually fond of his own comfort, it had not yet occurred to him that
his prospect for food was a very poor one.
Then, half an hour later, when he was not in the least expecting to reach
any such place, Ralph came upon a railroad station. There was a small
frame building beside a platform and near it a typical western grocery
store, which means that it held a great many other things beside
groceries.
Ralph was feeling tired and a little hungry. If he was to continue riding
about the country all day in this vague fashion, it would be as well to
secure food for himself when he could. There was never yet a country
store without cheese and crackers.
Ralph tied his pony to the hitching post and strolled up to the door of
the store. The door was partly open and he could see a man inside who was
probably a customer, as he did not appear to be the proprietor, and was
talking with some one.
Ralph walked in and the man stopped talking. He was smoking a short pipe
and looked curiously at the newcomer. Ralph’s appearance was a surprise.
He looked so exactly like the old-fashioned western phrase which
described the Eastern youth as a “tenderfoot.” Ralph’s riding costume was
too new, too clean and too fashionable ever to have seen real service.
But he knew how to make himself acceptable to most people.
He bowed a curt but friendly nod to the other man as he moved up toward
the counter.
“I am a stranger in this part of the country,” he announced, “and I have
been riding all morning. I wonder if you can let me eat a little
something here?”
The grocery keeper was friendly enough and began shoving out the various
supplies that the newcomer had asked for, conscious of the fact that he
was a good customer.
Then Ralph climbed up on a stool and began eating his lunch and drinking
ginger ale out of the glass bottle. He was enjoying himself a good deal
more than he had at many a fashionable luncheon served at an expensive
hotel.
By and by he turned to the other man who had not left the store.
“I wonder if you would have a bite with me?” he suggested. “I never did
like having to eat alone.”
The man hesitated and then came forward.
“Don’t care if I do,” he answered in a somewhat surly fashion, but Ralph
observed that he ate hungrily, and they had to have the supplies renewed
a second time.
When they had finished they both strolled out of the store together and,
without any discussion of the matter, sat down beside each other on the
railroad platform. Each man looked as if he had no other interest or
occupation in life except just to wait until a train passed by.
“There isn’t much excitement in this neighborhood, is there?” Ralph
finally said.
His companion stared straight ahead of him.
“Oh, you can’t sometimes always tell just by the outside looks of
things.”
Ralph hesitated a moment.
“Been any fun lately?” he inquired.
The man shook his head.
“Not much; nothing except some fellows been trying to blow up the track
out this way. I’m on the lookout for them for the railroad, as I’m one of
the company’s men.”
“Who are they and what is the matter?” Ralph asked, trying to show no
especial interest beyond a perfectly natural one.
But his companion showed no sign of wishing to be secretive.
“Don’t know,” he returned. “If I did, I’d have had them out of mischief
before this. There has been a gang of strikers hanging around somewhere
in this neighborhood—no one knows the exact place. But there is no reason
for suspecting them, except that they are down on the company. Funny,
I’ve been watching around here for several days and haven’t even run
across anybody to talk to before! At least no one but a boy who looked
like he ought to be home with his mother.”
Ralph laughed.
“A kind of a tenderfoot like I am?”
The other man grinned.
“Oh, he was a good deal younger than you. We have so many travelers from
the East out in this neighborhood now, that we have forgotten to call ’em
‘tenderfeet.’ This boy was a kid—a real kid—tall and sick looking, with
light hair and blue eyes and nice manners.”
Ralph nodded.
“Funny, what was he doing around here? There is no hotel very near, is
there?”
The older man shook his head.
“Not for several miles back. The boy said he was out here for his health
and kind of liked to stay by himself. He said he would keep his eyes open
for me. But he was a dreamy kind of kid. I don’t believe he would know
trouble if he saw it.”
Ralph whistled.
“I don’t believe he would. Seen him lately?”
“This morning early.”
“Think he’ll come back this way?”
The man had refilled his pipe and was smoking.
“How’d I know?” he returned. “I ain’t seen him any time, except one or
two mornings.”
The man then got up and stretched himself.
“Well, so long; I can’t waste any more time around here, much as I’d like
to stay and talk. I’ve got to get up and down the track a piece. I wish
you would keep an eye open on your way back.”
“Certainly,” Ralph answered, “only I’m not going back just yet. I am kind
of tired and I thought I’d sit here awhile and rest.”
The two men nodded and the older one walked away.
Ralph waited for two hours. Then, as the man in the grocery store was
beginning to look suspicious, he got up and strolled about. In the
meantime the station master had reappeared, after having spent some time
at his own midday meal.
Ralph tried to give him the impression that he was expecting some one on
the next train.
But between four and five o’clock his patience gave out. It was either
this, or he had lost all hope of Billy Webster’s returning the way he had
evidently gone, not only this morning, but on several others.
Ralph then made up his mind to ask Mrs. Burton to allow him to remain all
night at Sunrise camp.
The wanderer should not disappear the next day without his seeing him go.