"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.
