The train stopped suddenly with a jerk which was worse than usual, as if the engine had stumbled over itself. The brakeman, a target for many jests, hurried through the car.

“What have we stopped for now?” drawled McKay. “To enjoy the scenic effect?”

“Horse runned along ahead of the engine and bust his leg in the trestle,” laconically answered the brakeman.

“The son-of-a-gun! Now, the critter showed durned poor judgment, didn’t he?”

The brakeman swore mildly, and disappeared. In a few minutes he returned, carefully spat in[8] the empty stove, and the train casually moved on again.

[8]

Seeing a paper lying in the aisle, as he walked down the car, the brakeman stooped and picked it up. His eye fell upon a large red seal, and much elaborate writing. With a puzzled expression he read the document.

“United States of America. Department of State.

United States of America. Department of State.

“To all whom these presents may concern, Greeting. I, the undersigned, Secretary of State, of the United States of America, hereby request all whom it may concern to permit—Stephen Loring—a citizen of the United States, safely and freely to pass, and in case of need to give him all lawful aid and protection.”

“It must be a passport,” he thought. “First one I ever seed, though. I wonder who might Stephen Loring be.”

His eye fell upon the appended description:

“Age, 23 yrs., 4 mos.

Stature, 6 ft. 1.

Forehead, Broad.

Eyes, Brown.

Nose, Irregular.

Mouth, Wide.

Chin, Medium.

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