"Here comes the train!" called Billy Carew, as a whistle was heard, and, down the long line of glistening rails, the smoke of a locomotive was seen. The station agent went out to flag the express.

"Take care of yourself," advised Bruce.

"Bring me back a slice of New York," requested Smoke. "I want it well done."

"Be careful you don't get 'well-done', Roy," advised Billy Carew.

"Don't buy any gold bricks, or Confederate money, and take care, Roy, that them sharpers don't git ye!"

He waved his big sombrero, an example followed by all the other cowboys, as Roy climbed aboard the express. His trunk and valises were tumbled into the baggage car, the engineer blew two short blasts, and the train was off again, bearing Roy to New York.

His last view was of his father's cowboys, waving a farewell to him with their big hats, while some fired their revolvers, and others yelled at the top of their lungs.

"I wonder when I'll see them again," thought Roy. "I sort of hate to leave the old ranch, but I'm glad I'm going to New York."

He did not know all that was before him, nor what was to happen before he again saw his friends, the cowboys.

CHAPTER IV

ROY IS PUZZLED

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, bra.s.s 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 ent.i.tle me to a ride in a private car."

"Let me see youh ticket, sah."

Roy pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sengers?" 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 pa.s.sengers 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 b.u.t.ton," and he showed Roy an electric b.u.t.ton 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 pa.s.sengers," went on the negro, "and if youh wants me all youh has to do is push that yeah b.u.t.ton."

"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 pa.s.sengers.

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."