CHAPTER VIII
FLAME CITY
Bob and Betty descended the steps and found themselves on a rough platform with an unpainted shelter in the center that evidently did duty as a station. There were a few straggling loungers about, a team or two backed up to the platform, and a small automobile of the runabout type, red with rust.
"Well, bless her heart, how she's grown!" cried a cordial voice, and Mr. Richard Gordon had Betty in his arms.
"Uncle Dick! You don't know how glad I am to see you!" Betty hugged him tight, thankful that the worry and anxiety and uncertainty of the last few weeks, while she had waited in Washington to hear from him, was at last over, "How tanned you are!" she added.
"Oh, I'm a regular Indian," was the laughing response. "This must be Bob? Glad to see you, my boy. I feel that I already know you."
He and Bob shook hands heartily. Mr. Gordon was tall and muscular, with closely-cropped gray hair and quizzical gray eyes slightly puck-
