while on the road; and he had evidently seen a host of remarkable adventures. But not once did he refer to his past life beyond the time he joined the knights of the railroad track and the highway.
"He's either ashamed of it, or else there's something there that he finds it unpleasant to remember," was Frank's inward comment, on noticing this fact.
During the ten minutes they stood there watching him, Bill pulled in three fish, all of fair size.
"Sure you bring me good luck, Frank; wish it would carry round to some other things, I do," declared the hobo, with a significant look on his face.
"By the way," remarked Frank, as they prepared to move along, "better keep an eye out for a short, dark-faced man with a terrible eye. He answers to the name of Bill Brockholt, and has just escaped from the penitentiary over at Lauderville. Just as like as not he might wander along this way, and want to share your bunk here, as a sort of retired nest where they wouldn't be apt to look for him."
"All right; I'll keep an eye out for the chap. Never heard about him. What's he been doing to get locked up?" asked the other, and Frank could not see any indication that he cared particularly about the matter.
"Oh! he's a bad tgg, and the Chief says there's a reward of three hundred dollars out for him. Worth hauling in, Bill?" suggested Frank.
