ly. His general
attitude was one of boredom, tinged with disgust.

"Guess they've all been telling him what to do," whispered Bob, who,
while only a lad, had a trick of correctly estimating situations.

Pressing their way close in, he and Betty were at last able to see
what had stopped the train. The high wind, which was still blowing
with undiminished force, had blown down a huge tree. It lay directly
across the track, and barely missed the east-bound rails.

"Another foot, and she'd have tied up traffic both ways," said the
brakeman who had warned the passengers of the approach of the
express. "What you going to do, Jim?"

The engineer sighed heavily.

"Got to wait till it's sawed in pieces small enough for a gang to
handle," he answered. "We've sent to Tippewa for a cross-cut saw.
Take us from now till the first o' the month to saw that trunk with
the emergency saws."

"Where's Tippewa?" called out an inquisitive passenger. "Any
souvenirs there?"

"Sure. Indian baskets and that kind of truck," volunteered the young
brakeman affably, as the engineer did not deign to answer. "'Bout a
mile, maybe a mile and a half, straight up the track. We don't stop
there. You'll have plenty of time, won't he, Jim?"

"We'll be here a matter of three hours or more," admitted the
engineer.

"Let's walk to the town, Betty," suggested Bob. "We don't want to
hang around here for three hours. All this country looks alike."

Apparently half the passengers had decided that a trip to the town
promised a break in the monotony of a long train trip, and the track
resembled the main street of Pineville on a holiday. Every one walked
on the track occupied by the stalled train, and so felt secure.

"Bob," whispered Betty presently, "look. Aren't those the two men you
followed this morning? Just ahead of us--see the gray suits? And did
you hear anything to report?"

"Why, I haven't told you, have I?" said Bob contritely. "The train
stopping put it out of my mind. What do you think, Betty, they were
talking about the Saunders place! Can you imagine that?"

"The Saunders place?" echoed Betty, stopping short. "Why, Bob, do you
suppose--do you think----"

"Sure! It must be the farm my aunts live on," nodded Bob. "Saunders
isn't such a common name, you know. Besides, the one they call
Dan Carson--he isn't with them, guess he is too fat to enjoy
walking--said it was owned by a couple of old maids. Oh, it is the
right place, I'm sure of i