When the boys stood on the platform and gazed after the fast receding train, they felt that they were already on the edge of the wilderness.

Beyond the small ticket office was a freight house, while a lone residence, with a veranda at the side, stood opposite the station. A road skirted the railway tracks, and from this two others branched off, winding their way between broad fields, patched here and there with dark, gaunt trees.

"Looks like the arctic regions," said Nat.

"And feels like it, too," observed Tommy Clifton, pulling his coat collar closer around his neck. "Guess only birds live here."

"We'll have to rout somebody out and see about our stuff," said Hackett. "Hello, here he comes now."

A rather tall, spare man with a red, scraggly beard emerged from the ticket office and lazily ambled toward them.

"How d'y do, boys!" he said, with a broad grin. "Be you looking for anybody who lives hereabouts?"

"Is that the town, Jack?" asked Nat Wingate, pointing to the house opposite.

"Well! The idea! How did you guess my name?" exclaimed the station-master, with a look of pleased surprise. "Reckon I never seen you before, neither."

"We're the bounding brotherhood of brilliant guessers," grinned Nat. "Now, Jack, a few words with you; we want to know if you have a lot of boxes and sleds for us."

This rapid flow of words quite bewildered the old man. He scratched his head. Then an idea seemed to dawn upon him.

"Be them yourn?" he said. "A hull lot of stuff, an' sleds, too?"

"Now you're talking, Jack, old boy," said Hackett. "Trot out your papers, Somers, and show him."

"They're all in the freight house. You boys a-going ter stay in town fer a spell, I reckon, ain't yer?"

"Where is it?" asked Nat.

"Where?"

The station-master paused. A look of aggrieved surprise came over his rugged, honest face.

 Prev. P 16/151 next