that he thought this cool inspection of and discussion concerning a
stranger, even a juvenile stranger, somewhat embarrassing to its object.
Or the lantern light may have shown him an ominous pucker between the
boy's black brows and a flash of temper in the big black eyes beneath
them. At any rate, instead of replying to Mr. Young, he said, kindly:

"Yes, Captain Snow lives in the village. If you are going to his house
get right in here. I live close by, myself."

"Darned sure!" agreed Mr. Young, with enthusiasm. "Hop right in, sonny."

But the boy hesitated. Then, haughtily ignoring the driver, he said: "I
thought Captain Snow would be here to meet me. He wrote that he would."

The irrepressible Jim had no idea of remaining ignored. "Did Cap'n Lote
write you that he'd be here to the depot?" he demanded. "All right, then
he'll be here, don't you fret. I presume likely that everlastin' mare
of his has eat herself sick again; eh, Doc? By godfreys domino, the way
they pet and stuff that fool horse is a sin and a shame. It ain't Lote's
fault so much as 'tis his wife's--she's responsible. Don't you fret,
Bub, the cap'n'll be here for you some time to-night. If he said he'll
come he'll come, even if he has to hire one of them limmysines. He, he,
he! All you've got to do is wait, and . . . Hey! . . . Hold on a minute!
. . . Bub!"

The boy was walking away. And to hail him as "Bub" was, although Jim
Young did not know it, the one way least likely to bring him back.

"Bub!" shouted Jim again. Receiving no reply he added what he had
intended saying. "If I run afoul of Cap'n Lote anywheres on the road,"