two suitcases, the boy made his
way in to the tiny operating-room, and on into the bunk-kitchen-living-room
behind. For here, "a hundred miles from anywhere," the operator's board and
lodging was provided by the railroad.

Early that evening Wilson was sitting somewhat disconsolately at the
telegraph-room window when he was startled by a loud whoop. There was a
second, then a rush of hoofs, and a party of cowboys came into view.

It was the "welcoming committee" of the Bar-O ranch, the "outfit"
referred to by the operator at Exeter.

With a final whoop the cowmen thundered up to the station platform, and
dismounted. Muskoka Jones, a huge, heavily-moustached ranchman over six
feet in height, was first to reach the open window. Diving within to the
waist, he brought a bottle down on the instrument table with a crash.

"Pardner, welcome to our city!" he shouted.

The response should have been instantaneous and hearty. Instead there was
a strange quiet.

The following Bar-O's faltered, and exchanged glances. Surely the Western
had not at last "fallen down" on its first obligation at Bonepile! For
since the coming of the rails they had regarded the station operator as a
sort of social adjunct to the ranch--the keeper of an open house of
hospitality, their daily paper, the final learned authority on all
matters of politics and sport. And if this latest change of operators had
brought them--

Muskoka spoke again, and the worst was realized.

"Well, you gal-faced little dude!"

The cowmen crowded forward, and peering over Muskoka's board shoulders,
studied Wilson from head to foot with speechless scorn.

Muskoka settled forward on his elbows.

"Are you a real operator?" he inquired.

In a voice that sounded foolish even to himself Wilson responded in the
affirmative.

"Actooal, real, male operator?"

The cluster of bronzed faces guffawed loudly.

"But y' don't play kiards, do you?" Muskoka asked incredulously. "Now I
bet you don't. Or smoke? Or chew? Or any of them wicked--"

"Here are some cigarettes the other man left." Hopefully the boy extended
the package--to have it snatched from his hand, scramblingly emptied, and
the box flipped ceilingward.

In falling the box brought further trouble. It struck something on the
wall which emitted a hollow thud, and glancing up the cowmen espied
Wilson's new, brilliantly-banded hat. In a trice Muskoka's long arm had
secured it, with the common inspiration the clust