Carl, the listening Bob judged, must be the ticket agent.
“I’d like to see that whippersnapper order me out!” blustered Bud. “There’s a whole raft of women in there, waiting for the train.”
Mr. Davis carefully lowered the wheelbarrow and leaned carelessly against the box.
“Guess I’ll go in and see the girl—like to know how she looks,” he observed a bit more loudly than was necessary.
Bob understood that he was going to explain to Betty and he thanked him silently with all his heart.
The friendly Mr. Davis strolled into the waiting-room and had no difficulty in recognizing Betty Gordon. She was the only girl in the room, in the first place, and she sat facing the door, a bag on either side of her, and a world of anxiety in her dark eyes. The groceryman crossed the floor and took the vacant seat at her right. There was no one within earshot.
“Don’t you be scared, Miss,” he said quietly. “I’m Micah Davis, and I just want to tell you that everything’s all right with that Bob boy. I’ve got him out here in a box, and when the train comes he’s a-going to hop on board before you can say Jack Robinson.”
“Oh, you dear!” Betty turned upon the astonished Mr. Davis with a radiant smile. “I was worried to death about him, because those dreadful men have been hanging around the station, and they keep peering in here. You’re so good to help Bob!”
Mr. Davis stammered confusedly that he had done nothing, and then hurried on to advise Betty to pay no attention to anything that might happen, but to let the conductor help her on the train.
“I’ve got to wheel the lad down toward the baggage car,” he explained, “so’s they won’t suspect. You see, Miss, this is an oil town and folks do pretty much as they please. If a gang want to beat up a stranger they don’t find much opposition. In a few years we’ll have better order, but just now the toughs have it. Sorry you had to have this experience.”