uld send word ahead,"
suggested his companion.

"Well, we don't know, and after this they will probably keep their eyes
wide open and keep out of sight as much as possible. Anyway, I don't
think they'll bother Mr. Vane any more."

"It's not likely. I'm a witness to what they were up to," answered the
young westerner.

Both Joe and Bill Badger were soaked from the rain and resolved to
strike out for the nearest farmhouse or village. They kept along the
railroad tracks, and presently came to a shanty where there was a
track-walker.

"How far to the nearest village?" asked our hero.

"Half a mile."

"Thank you."

"How is it you are out here in the rain?" went on the track-walker.

"We got off our train and it went off without us."

"Oh, I see. Too bad."

Again our hero and his companion hurried on, and soon came in sight of
a small village. They inquired their way to a tavern, and there dried
their clothing and procured a good, hot meal, which made both feel much
better.

"I am going to send a telegram to Mr. Vane," said Joe, and did so
without further delay. He was careful of the satchel and did not leave
it out of his sight.

They found they could get a train for the West that evening at seven
o'clock and at the proper time hurried to the depot.

"I'm glad I met you," said Joe, to his newly-made friend. "Now, what do
you think I owe you for what you did?"

"As we didn't land the fellows in jail you don't owe me anything," said
Bill Badger, promptly.

"Oh, yes, I do."

"Well then, you can pay the extra expense, and let that fill the bill."

"I'll certainly do that," said Joe, promptly.

As they rode along Bill Badger told something of himself and of the mine
his father owned, and then Joe told something of his own story.

"Did you say your name is Joe Bodley?" asked the young westerner, with
deep interest.

"Yes."

"And you are looking for a man by the name of William A. Bodley?"

"I am."

"It seems to me I know a man by that name, although the miners all call
him Bill Bodley."

"Where is this Bill Bodley?"

"Out in Montana somewhere. He worked for my father once, about three
years ago. He was rather a strange man, about fifty years old. He had
white hair and a white beard, and acted as if he had great trouble on
his mind."

"You do not know where he is now?"

"No, but perhaps my father knows."

"Then I'm going to see your father as soon as I can," said Joe,
decidedly.

"Mind you