As they stepped into the hall, Roy looked at the sign on the door. It read:
“Back when I git here. Address Sink Weston, Bluff, Utah.”
“I’m tired o’ town,” the agent exclaimed, “an’ sick o’ things I don’t know nothin’ about--an’ these,” he added with a laugh, pointing to his tan shoes and town clothes. “I’ll take ye to Bluff myself.”
This was Roy’s introduction to the new life he was just entering. Over his protest, Colonel Weston, now “Sink” Weston once more, at least temporarily, insisted that the boy should go to his home for dinner.
Mr. Weston’s explanation to his wife that business called him to Bluff was received with no great joy, Roy could see, but Mrs. Weston was probably used to her husband’s lapses into his old life.
“I don’t know how I’m goin’ to thank you folks for takin’ me in this way and helpin’ me,” said Roy, as he sat down to fresh biscuits, fried ham, potatoes, warmed-over baked beans, and a pot of fresh coffee.
“Don’t take on about that,” answered Mr. Weston. “All we ask is ye don’t offer to pay nuthin’.”
That night Roy wrote a letter to his mother. Ten days later, from Mrs. Osborne came to Mrs. Weston a fashionable shopping bag of tanned sealskin. For years to come it will be the pride of Mrs. Weston’s heart.
It had already been agreed that the start for Bluff was to be made at five o’clock the next morning. Mr. Weston, despite his long face in recounting his town experience, in reality owned a freight teaming business. He maintained a sort of livery stable and sent a freight wagon each day to Cortez, twelve miles down the mountain.
While Roy went to the express office at the railway station, his new friend and host began making arrangements for a wagon and horses. When the boy reached the depot and made modest inquiry for his freight, the agent looked at him open mouthed.
“Do you want me to identify myself?” asked Roy with a laugh. “Colonel Weston knows me.”
“I reckon it’s all right who ye air, but why in the name uv all that’s good and holy, didn’t ye send it by freight?”
“It’s all here, is it?” Roy asked anxiously.
“It’s nigh all over town. That gasoline is over thar by the water tank--an’ by _express, too_,” the agent repeated, looking at Roy as if he were a Rockefeller. “An’ the big boxes is over in the freight house. Some o’ the bundles is in the baggage room.”