addressed to him. He found himself facing an
uncouth-looking youth who, despite the heat of an early September
afternoon, wore a heavy blanket Mackinaw coat, rubber shoes and thick
stockings tied at the knee. Khaki trousers, and a cap of the same
material as the coat, completed the typical lumberjack outfit, though
Tom Gray was the only member of the Overland party who recognized it as
such. The youngster's hands were thrust firmly into the pockets of the
Mackinaw coat as he stood eyeing Hippy with a sullen expression on his
face.

"Am I what?" demanded the Overland Rider, putting down the suitcase and
dropping the pup, much to the animal's relief.

"I said, be you Gray?"

"Not yet, old chap. I am threatened with a bald head early in my young
life, but I thank goodness I am not gray. Why? What's the joke?"

The loungers on the station platform laughed, and the boy shifted
uneasily and leaned against a station pillar.

"'Cause I was to meet er feller named Gray who was comin' in on this
train."

"Oh! That's it, is it? I thought you meant is my hair gray," grinned
Hippy. "Oh, Tom! Here is your man. Here's your guide," cried Hippy,
shaking hands cordially with the young fellow.

Detaching himself from the girls of the party of Overland Riders who
were assembling their luggage, Tom Gray stepped over to Lieutenant
Wingate.

"Are you Joe Shafto?" questioned Tom, addressing the boy.

"Naw, I ain't. Joe sent me over to meet you folks and tell you how to
git up to the place."

"Why isn't Joe here to meet us?" demanded Grace Harlowe, joining the
group in time to hear the boy's explanation.

"Joe's doin' the washin' to-day, and to-morrer is ironin' day. Joe sent
word sayin' as I was to meet you and tell you not to git up there before
late to-morrer afternoon."

"Ho, ho! Doing the family washing, eh?" chortled Hippy. "Fine guide you
have selected, Tom Gray. Hey there!" Hippy made a spring for the bull
pup, who had fastened his teeth in the neck of a fox terrier, and picked
his dog up by the handle of the shawl strap. The fox terrier came up
with Hindenburg, by which name the bull was known, and it required the
united efforts of Tom and Hippy to extricate the fox terrier from
Hindenburg's tenacious grip.

"It might be wise to hang onto your dog, Hippy," advised Tom. "You are
to show us the way to Shafto's, I presume?" questioned Tom Gray,
addressing the boy again.

"Naw. I reckon you can find the way yourself. Can