Part 4 (1/2)
”Here comes the train!” called Billy Carew, as a whistle was heard, and, down the long line of glistening rails, the smoke of a locomotive was seen. The station agent went out to flag the express.
”Take care of yourself,” advised Bruce.
”Bring me back a slice of New York,” requested Smoke. ”I want it well done.”
”Be careful you don't get 'well-done', Roy,” advised Billy Carew.
”Don't buy any gold bricks, or Confederate money, and take care, Roy, that them sharpers don't git ye!”
He waved his big sombrero, an example followed by all the other cowboys, as Roy climbed aboard the express. His trunk and valises were tumbled into the baggage car, the engineer blew two short blasts, and the train was off again, bearing Roy to New York.
His last view was of his father's cowboys, waving a farewell to him with their big hats, while some fired their revolvers, and others yelled at the top of their lungs.
”I wonder when I'll see them again,” thought Roy. ”I sort of hate to leave the old ranch, but I'm glad I'm going to New York.”
He did not know all that was before him, nor what was to happen before he again saw his friends, the cowboys.
CHAPTER IV
ROY IS PUZZLED
While Roy's father had given him some instructions as to the best method of proceeding while in New York, Mr. Bradner had said nothing to his son about what he might expect on his railroad trip. Therefore the boy was totally unprepared for the novelties of modern travel. Mr.
Bradner had thought it wise to let his son find out things for himself.
Roy had never been in anything but an ordinary day coach, and those were of an old-fas.h.i.+oned type. But his father had purchased for him tickets all the way to New York in the Pullman parlor and sleeping cars, and it was in a luxurious parlor car, then, that Roy found himself when he boarded the express.
At first the boy did not know what to make of it. The car had big chairs instead of the ordinary seats, the windows were nearly twice as large as those in other coaches, and there were silk and plush curtains hanging over them. Besides there was a thick, soft velvety carpet on the floor of the coach, and, what with the inlaid and polished wood, the hangings, mirrors, bra.s.s and nickel-plated fixtures, Roy thought he had, by mistake, gotten into the private car of some millionaire.
He had occasionally seen the outside of these fine coaches as they rushed through Painted Stone, but he had never dreamed that he would be in one. So, as soon as he entered the coach, he started back.
”What's de matter, sah?” inquired a colored porter in polite tones, as he came from what seemed a little cubby-hole built in the side of the car.
”Guess I'm in the wrong corral,” remarked Roy, who was so used to using western and cattle terms, that he did not consider how they would sound to other persons.
”Wrong corral, sah?”
”Yes; I must be mixed in with the wrong brand. Where's the regular coach?”
”Oh, dis coach am all reg'lar, sah. Reg'lar as can be. We ain't got none but reg'lar coaches on dis yeah express. No indeed, sah.”
”But I guess my ticket doesn't ent.i.tle me to a ride in a private car.”
”Let me see youh ticket, sah.”
Roy pa.s.sed the negro the bit of pasteboard.
”Oh, yes indeedy, sah. Youh is all right. Dis am de coach youh g'wine to ride in. We goes all de way to Chicago, sah.”
”Is this for regular pa.s.sengers?” asked Roy, wondering how the railroad could afford to supply such luxurious cars.