o Brooklyn," was the laughing reply, "but that
don't count with me. I guess I know something about traveling without
money."

Having thus arranged for the care of the unconscious man, and tried to
console Jimmie for his great disappointment, Nestor and Fremont left
the big building, seeing, as the latter supposed, no one on their way
out. As they turned out of the Great White Way, still blazing with
lights, directing their steps toward the East River, Fremont turned
about and glanced with varying emotions at the brilliant scene he was
leaving. He was parting, under a cloud, from the Great White Way and
all that the fanciful title implied. He loved the rush and hum of the
big city, and experienced, standing there in the night, a dread of the
silent places he was soon to visit under such adverse conditions.

He loved the forest, too, and the plains and the mountains, but knew
that the burden he was carrying away from the Cameron building would
hang upon him like the Old-man-of-the-Sea until he was back in the big
city again with a name free from suspicion. Nestor stood waiting while
the boy took his sorrowful look about the familiar scenes.

"I know what you're thinking about," he said, as they started on again.
"You're sorry to go not entirely because you love the city, but because
you feel as if you were turning coward in going at all. You'll get over
that as the case develops."

"I'm afraid it will be lonesome down there where we are going," said
Fremont. "I had planned something very different. The Black Bears
were to go along, you know, and there was to be no
fugitive-from-justice business."

"Fugitive from injustice, you should say," said Nestor. "The Black
Bears may come along after a time, too. Anyway, you'll find plenty of
Boy Scouts on the border. I have an idea that Uncle Sam will have his
hands full keeping them out of trouble."

"He'll have a nest on his hands if they take a notion to flock over the
Rio Grande," replied Fremont. "It is hard to keep a boy away from the
front when there are campfires on the mountains."

The two boys passed east to Second avenue, south to Twenty-third
street, and there crossed the East River on the old Greenpoint ferry.
Still walking east, an hour before daylight they came to a cottage in
the vicinity of Newtown Creek, and here Nestor paused and knocked
gently on a door which seemed half hidden by creeping vines, which,
leafless at that time of the year, rattled