would turn you over to the police."

Olive could not realize it, but her appearance had already touched her
discoverer. She crouched in her corner again and bowed her head in her
slim brown hands, as she had the day when the ranch girls brought her
out of Frieda's cave. She did not try to defend herself.

The trainman climbed up on a box and sat whittling a stick and watching
Olive out of a pair of shrewd Irish blue eyes. He was not a fierce man.
He had a wife and five tow-headed children, living in one of the little
frame shacks along the line of the railroad. The man was clever enough
to see that Olive was not an ordinary thief or impostor.

"Are you sick, girl?" the man inquired, surprised by Olive's silence.

The girl shook her head. "Oh, no, I am not sick, thank you," Olive
answered gently, "but I am very tired. I ran away from an Indian
encampment before dawn to-day. Would you mind telling me where this
train is going?"

Little by little Olive told the whole history of her strange life to the
Irishman, who sat on the box in the freight car and never ceased his
whittling for a moment.

"By St. Peter!" he muttered, when Olive finished replying to his last
question. "This girl tells a story that might have come out of a poetry
or a history book. The funny thing is, her story must be true! Oh,
well," he announced to himself, not to Olive, "there is one thing
certain. Nobody can ever make up in their heads such all-fired queer
things as happen every day."

But the man had not answered Olive's question as to where this train was
going. She had not the courage to ask him again.

By and by Olive saw little houses along the road and knew that their
train was nearing a small, western town. She got up and touched the
Irishman timidly on the arm. "May I get off at the station myself,
please?" she begged. "You won't have to put me off."

The man shook his head severely. "No, you are not going to get off
yourself," he returned gruffly, "and I ain't going to put you off
either. If you can keep on making yourself small, and you are a pretty
thin kind of a girl, I am going to take you farther down the road with
us. I have an idea this here freight train will run along somewhere near
Wolfville in the course of the afternoon. You have had such bad luck in
the past, Missie, that maybe your luck has changed. Anyhow, when you
butted blindly into this freight car, you found a coach going in just
about the way you needed to tra