“I may be from the East, but I won’t let them call me a tenderfoot,” Bob exclaimed earnestly; “and I’ll try and get on the right side of them, so they won’t play tricks on me.”

Bob’s idea of cowboys had been gathered from his reading of many stories of life on the plains, and was, therefore, rather vague.  And it was while holding imaginary conversations with ranchmen conjured from his brain, that his body, wearied by the unusual events through which he had passed, grew quiet, and he finally dropped off to sleep.

The motion of the train and frequent stops affected him not at all, and as soundly as though he were in the bed at the rear of the grocer’s shop, he slept through the night.

Mindful of Mr. Perkins’ request that he look after Bob, the brakeman brought a coat with which he covered the boy, as the chill of night settled on the car, and several times as he passed he tucked it about Bob, when his moving had caused it to slide to the floor.

About seven o’clock in the morning the trainman, after having waited in vain for Bob to wake of his own accord, shook him gently by the shoulder, exclaiming: 

“Come, son, it’s time you were up and doing, if you are going to have breakfast with the ‘old man.’  He is liable to send in any time for you now, and after you have known him as long as I have, you’ll learn that he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“But where am I going to wash my face and hands?  Doesn’t the train stop at the station?”

At this naive question, the brakeman looked at Bob for a moment, and then chuckling heartily to himself, exclaimed: 

“Say, kid, are you trying to jolly me, or have you been kept in a glass cage all your life?  Don’t you know that they have washrooms on the trains?”

“No.  This is the first time I have ever taken a journey on a train in my life.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Chicago, first, and then out to Oklahoma.”

“Well, that’s far enough, so that if you don’t know anything about travelling now, you will when you get there.  What part of Oklahoma are you going to?”

“I don’t just know exactly,” and then, his breast swelling with pride, he continued:  “I’m going on a ranch, but I haven’t decided quite yet where.”

“Folks live out there?  Going to friends?”

“No.”

“Well, I suppose you know your own business, but taking it all in all, if I was you, I think I’d stay East among people I knew, and whose ways I was used to.”

“I don’t believe you would if you were me,” said Bob, and then tiring of the questioning, he said:  “I thought you were going to show me the washroom.  I want to be ready when Mr. Perkins sends for me.”

Smiling at the manner in which Bob changed the conversation, the brakeman led him to the lavatory, and soon Bob had made his very primitive toilet.

In his endeavor to make himself as presentable as possible, he had washed and wiped his face so vigorously that it almost shone.  And no sooner had he finished the task than the brakeman put his head in the door, and said: