e seemed to have plenty of money--there
was a neat and attractive jewelry store conspicuous between a barber
shop and a grain store--no one seemed to have to work. The streets
were unpaved, the sidewalks of rough boards in many places, in others
no walks at all were attempted. Many of the buildings were mere
shacks incongruously painted in brilliant colors, and there were more
dogs than were ever before gathered into one place. Of that Bob was
sure.

"Do you suppose they've all made fortunes in oil?" Betty ventured,
scanning the groups of men and boys that filled every doorway and
lounged at the corners. "No one is working, Bob. Who runs the wells?"

"Different shifts, I suppose," answered Bob. "I declare, Betty, I'm
not so sure that you'll get anything to eat after all. We'll go back
to the station; they may have sandwiches or cake or something like
that on sale there."

They turned down another street that led to the station, Bob in the
lead. He heard a little cry from Betty, and turned to find that she
had disappeared.

"The lady fell down that hole!" shouted a man, hurrying across the
street. "There go the barrels! I told Zinker he ought to have braced
that dirt!"

Bob, still not understanding, saw four large barrels that had stood
on the sidewalk slowly topple over the side of an excavation and roll
out of sight.

"She went in, too," cried the man, scrambling over the edge. "Are you
hurt, lady?" he called.

"Betty!" shouted Bob. "Betty, are you hurt?" He took a flying leap to
the edge of the hole, and, having miscalculated the distance, slid
over after the barrels.

Over and over he rolled, bringing up breathless against something
soft.

"I knew you'd come to get me," giggled Betty, "but you needn't have
hurried. Are there any more barrels coming?"

Bob was immensely relieved to find that she was unhurt. The barrels
had luckily been empty and had rolled over and into her harmlessly.

"Well, looks like you're all right," grinned the Chassada citizen who
had followed Bob more leisurely. "Let me help you up this grade.
There now, you're fine and dandy, barring a little dirt that will
wash off. George Zinker excavated last winter for a house, and then
didn't build. I always told him the walk was shifty. You're strangers
in town, aren't you?"

Bob explained that they were only waiting over between trains.

"So you're going to Flame City!" exclaimed their new friend with
interest when Bob mentioned the