“I should be obliged if you would direct me to the hotel.  I suppose they will send for my trunk.”

“I’ll direct you, of course,” returned the agent, “and you can’t very well miss it because it’s the only one in town.  But if you don’t mind, I’d like to have you put up here with me.”  Then he added in a low voice:  “The Red Indian isn’t the sort of place you’re used to and I’d feel safer to have you here.”

“Oh, all right,” laughed Bob.  “I shan’t be in town very long; that is, if I can find a ranch where they’ll take me.”

“So you’re bound to ranch it, eh?  You’ll find it pretty tough,” commented Thomas.

“That’s what I’m here for,” answered the boy, smiling.  “I guess I can stand it.”

“Mebbe you can and mebbe you can’t,” observed the surly-looking man, who had edged his way to where the agent and Bob were talking and had heard the boy’s last remark.

“It all depends on whose ranch you strike.  Most cowpunchers don’t cotton to tenderfeet.  The last one that hit Fairfax stayed just three days and was mighty glad to light out on a freight train.”

“Now, Higgins, don’t try to scare Mr. Nichols,” exclaimed Thomas.  “His father’s vice-president of the Great Western.”

“So you are Si Nichols’ son, eh?” inquired Higgins.

“I thought out-West people weren’t supposed to ask questions,” returned Bob.

“Good boy!  That’s one on you, Higgins!” chuckled the other loungers gleefully, and the station agent added:  “Now leave the boy alone.  He’s my guest while he’s in Fairfax and any trick played on him I shall consider a personal affront to myself.”

As the agent uttered these words, he drew himself to his full height and Bob could see that he was a splendid specimen of manhood.  And that the others had a wholesome respect for his prowess was evident in the more deferential manner which they adopted toward Bob.

“Oh, if he’s your special friend, all right,” growled Higgins, but he added under his breath, “I’ll have some fun with you, Mr. Tenderfoot, see if I don’t.”

As he walked with the agent to where his trunk lay beside the track, Bob could not but wonder what his reception would have been had he not made the chance acquaintance of such powerful friends, and he thanked his good fortune that he had done so, for he felt out of place and very lonely in a strange country and among such rough-mannered men.

Divining what was passing through the boy’s mind from the seriousness of his face, Thomas said: 

“You mustn’t take to heart what these men out here say to you, Mr. Nichols.  Wresting a livelihood from the prairies has accustomed them to giving and receiving hard knocks, and they don’t stop to think how what they say will sound.  Just take it good-naturedly and give them back better than they send—­if you can.”

“I’ll try,” said the boy.  “But please don’t call me Mr. Nichols.  Just Bob.  I like it better.”