Bob Chester's Grit/Chapter 17
CHAPTER XVII
SEEKING A JOB
The stopping of the Limited at the little settlement of Fairfax was sufficient to arouse the curiosity of the dozen or so men who were lounging about the station, and when they saw that such an unusual proceeding was to allow a mere boy to alight, they stared at him with unfeigned interest.
"Must be the son of some big bug," hazarded one of the idlers.
"Or else he was put off for trying to beat his way," declared another, whose surly disposition was evident in his words.
"Can't a person get off here without starting a guessing match?" commented a third.
"Of course," replied the surly man. "But it don't seem natural."
During these remarks Bob was engrossed in gazing at the place he had chosen in which to build his fortune, and the prospect was not reassuring.
About half a mile from the station he could see a score or more of houses built in all sorts of shapes, and possessing anything but an attractive appearance. Beyond the settlement and on all sides, the prairies stretched in awesome vastness.
As he surveyed the surroundings, Bob could not restrain a sigh, but quickly checked it as a pleasant-faced, powerfully built man stepped briskly from the cabin which served as station and said cheerily:
"You're Bob Nichols, I suppose. My name is Henry Thomas. Your father wired me to be on the lookout for you. I had to report the train or I'd have come out sooner. What can I do for you?"
Hearing himself addressed as Nichols was a distinct shock to the boy, but to be taken for the son of the vice-president of the railroad completely dumfounded him, and for a moment he was on the point of denying the assumption. Then his promise to adopt the name recurred to him and he decided that Mr. Nichols' failure to disclaim relationship was probably with a purpose, so he just muttered something as though in answer to the first question and said aloud:
"I should be obliged if you would direct me to the hotel. I suppose they will send for my trunk."
"I'll direct you, of course," returned the agent, "and you can't very well miss it because it's the only one in town. But if you don't mind, I'd like to have you put up here with me." Then he added in a low voice: "The Red Indian isn't the sort of place you're used to and I'd feel safer to have you here."
"Oh, all right," laughed Bob. "I shan't be in town very long; that is, if I can find a ranch where they'll take me."
"So you're bound to ranch it, eh? You'll find it pretty tough," commented Thomas.
"That's what I'm here for," answered the boy, smiling. "I guess I can stand it."
"Mebbe you can and mebbe you can't," observed the surly-looking man, who had edged his way to where the agent and Bob were talking and had heard the boy's last remark.
"It all depends on whose ranch you strike. Most cowpunchers don't cotton to tenderfeet. The last one that hit Fairfax stayed just three days and was mighty glad to light out on a freight train."
"Now, Higgins, don't try to scare Mr. Nichols," exclaimed Thomas. "His father's vice-president of the Great Western."
"So you are Si Nichols' son, eh?" inquired Higgins.
"I thought out-West people weren't supposed to ask questions," returned Bob.
"Good boy! That's one on you, Higgins!" chuckled the other loungers gleefully, and the station agent added: "Now leave the boy alone. He's my guest while he's in Fairfax and any trick played on him I shall consider a personal affront to myself."
As the agent uttered these words, he drew himself to his full height and Bob could see that he was a splendid specimen of manhood. And that the others had a wholesome respect for his prowess was evident in the more deferential manner which they adopted toward Bob.
"Oh, if he's your special friend, all right," growled Higgins, but he added under his breath, "I'll have some fun with you, Mr. Tenderfoot, see if I don't."
As he walked with the agent to where his trunk lay beside the track, Bob could not but wonder what his reception would have been had he not made the chance acquaintance of such powerful friends, and he thanked his good fortune that he had done so, for he felt out of place and very lonely in a strange country and among such rough-mannered men.
Divining what was passing through the boy's mind from the seriousness of his face, Thomas said:
"You mustn't take to heart what these men out here say to you, Mr. Nichols. Wresting a livelihood from the prairies has accustomed them to giving and receiving hard knocks, and they don't stop to think how what they say will sound. Just take it good-naturedly and give them back better than they send—if you can."
"I'll try," said the boy. "But please don't call me Mr. Nichols. Just Bob. I like it better."
At this request, Bob rose a hundred per cent. in the estimation of the agent.
"All right. But if I do, you must call me Hal," he replied.
When they had carried the trunk into a little room off the station, Thomas said:
"Can you ride horseback at all, Bob?"
"No."
"That's too bad. You'll have to learn. Everybody rides out here. I've orders to get you the best pony possible and I wanted to know just what kind to get. Most of 'em have some mean trick. But there's one, Firefly they call him, that is as gentle as a lamb. Whether Shorty Simmons will sell him or not, I don't know, but I'll find out."
"Is he fast?" asked Bob, fearing that the pony might be slow and old because he was gentle.
"There's not a horse in Fairfax that can keep up with him. Now this will be your room. It's mine too, but I'll move if you wish."
"If you do, I'll go to the hotel."
"All right, I won't. While you are changing your clothes, I'll ride over to town and see if I can buy Firefly."
The group of loungers was still on the platform when the agent went to the little lean-to beside the station where he kept his horse, saddled and mounted it, and as they saw him ride forth a wicked gleam appeared in Higgins' eyes.
He calculated that Bob would soon emerge from the seclusion of the station, and in such event he recognized his opportunity for carrying out his vow to have some fun with the boy.
Eager to begin Western life, Bob quickly took off his new suit and put on a pair of the corduroy trousers and one of the blue flannel shirts Mr. Nichols had bought him and then proudly placed on his head a sombrero.
Standing before the looking glass, he surveyed the effect, saying to himself as he noted the change the costume made in his appearance:
"I don't believe Mr. Dardus or anyone back in New York would know me now."
But not long did he linger gazing at himself. The voices of the men on the platform were audible and he decided to join the group in the hope that from some chance remark he might learn of a ranch where he could obtain a job as cowboy. For though he was grateful to the agent, Bob wanted to be independent.