t the door.

"'Lo, Davis," said one conciliatingly. "Seen anything of a fresh
kid--freckled, good clothes, right out of the East? He tried to pass
some bad money at Jake Hill's. Seen him?"

Bob nearly denounced this lie, but common sense saved him. Small use
in seeking protection and then refusing it.

"Haven't seen anybody like that," said the groceryman positively.
"Quit bruising those tomatoes, Bud."

"Well, he won't get out of town," stated Bud sourly. "There's a girl
with him, and they're figuring on taking the one-fifty-two. We're
going down and picket the station. If Mr. Smarty gets on that train
at all, his face won't look so pretty."

They tramped off, and Bob came out from his hiding place.

"They're a nice bunch!" he declared bitterly. "I got into a row with
'em because they were teasing a poor Chinaman and Betty Gordon landed
on them for that. Then I tried to get her away from the place, and of
course that started a fight. But I suppose they can dust the station
with me if they're set on it--only I'll register a few protests."

"Now, now, we ain't a-going to have no battle," announced the genial
Mr. Davis. "I knew Bud was lying soon as I looked at him. Why? 'Cause
I never knew him to tell the truth. As for picketing the station,
well, there's more ways than one to skin a cat."

CHAPTER VII

A YANKEE FRIEND

Micah Davis was a Yankee, as he proudly told Bob, "born and raised in
New Hampshire," and his shrewd common sense and dry humor stood him
in good stead in the rather lawless environment of Chassada. He was
well acquainted with the unlovely characteristics of the five who had
chased Bob, and when he heard the whole story he promised to look up
the Chinaman and see what he could do for him.

"If he's out of a job, I'd like to hire him," he said. "They're good,
steady workers, and born cooks. He can have the room back of the
store and do his own housekeeping. I'll stop in at Jake's this
afternoon."

Bob was in a fever of fear that he would miss the train, and it was
now a quarter of two. But Mr. Davis assured him that that special
train was always late and that there was "all the time in the world
to get to the station."

"I'm expecting some canned goods to come up from Wayne," he
declared, "and I often go down after such stuff with my wheelbarrow.
Transportation's still limited with us, as you may have guessed. I
calculate the best way to fool those smart Alecs is to put you in an