CHAPTER XXXI

FUGITIVE

Rodeo, Hachita, Monument—­long hours between each town as the local did its variable thirty-five miles an hour across the southern end of New Mexico.  It was Pete’s first experience in traveling by rail, and true to himself he made the most of it.  He used his eyes, and came to the conclusion that they were aboard a very fast train—­a train that “would sure give a thoroughbred the run of its life”—­Pete’s standard of speed being altogether of the saddle—­and that more people got on and off that train than could possibly have homes in that vast and uninhabited region.  The conductor was an exceedingly popular individual.  Every one called him by his “front name,” which he acknowledged pleasantly in like manner.  Pete wondered if the uniformed gentleman packed a gun; and was somewhat disappointed when he discovered that that protuberance beneath the conductor’s brass-buttoned coat was nothing more deadly than a leather wallet, pretty well filled with bills and loose silver—­for that isolated railroad did a good cash business and discriminating conductors grew unobtrusively wealthy.  And what was still more strange to Pete was the fact that the conductor seemed to know where each person was going, without having to refer to any penciled notation or other evident data.

The conductor was surprisingly genial, even to strangers, for, having announced that the next station was El Paso, he took the end seat of the combination baggage and smoking car, spread out his report sheet, and as he sorted and arranged the canceled tickets, he chatted with Pete and Brevoort, who sat facing him.  Had they heard the news?  Brevoort shook his head.  Well, there had been a big fight down along the line, between the northern cattlemen and Arguilla’s soldiers.  It was rumored that several American cowboys had been killed.  He had heard this from the agent at Hermanas, who had “listened in” on the wire to El Paso.  Perhaps they had heard about it, though, as they had come up from that way.  No?  Well, the El Paso papers already had the news, by wire.  How was the cattle business going, anyway?

Brevoort said that it was pretty fair.

The conductor knew of a nice little hotel near the station—­in fact he stopped there himself.  El Paso was the end of his run.  If the boys were going to see the town, they couldn’t do better than to stop at this hotel.  Clean beds, good food, quiet, and reasonable as to rates.

Pete was about to say something when Brevoort touched him gently with his knee.

“We was lookin’ for a place like that,” said Brevoort, suddenly loquacious.  “We sure aim to see this town.  We just been paid off—­we was workin’ for the Bar-Cross—­and we figured on seein’ a little high life a-fore we went to punchin’ again.  Is that hotel you was speakin’ about open all night?”

The conductor chuckled.  “Ain’t been closed a minute for six years that I know.  Mostly railroad men.  And say, if you figure on being in town more than a couple of days, you can save money by taking your room by the week.”