He gave up thinking about it when morning came and hurried to the B. & O. station, where he met Charley all ready for the journey.
The run to Chicago was made in good time and without adventure.
There was no stop here, except to change cars, and the next thing the boys knew they were in Omaha, where they took the Union Pacific to Cheyenne and then ran up to Fort Fetterman, changed cars again and in due time were set down on a barren, alkali plain, where there was a station, a windmill, a water tank and a dozen houses—they had reached Node Ranch at last.
The boys went at once to the Palace Hotel, which proved to be a dirty old roost of the worst kind.
“Heavens!” exclaimed Charley; “if we had to stay here long I should give up the ghost.”
Dick felt about the same way, but as it happened they did not have to stay at the Palace at all, for they had scarcely located themselves in their room and Dick was just getting ready to go out and look for Doctor Dan, when all at once there was a knock on the door and when Charley opened it there stood a tall Indian dressed in an ordinary business suit, with nothing to distinguish him from a white man except his features and his long black hair.
“I want to see Dick Darrell,” he said, without a trace of accent. “Are you the young man?”
“No; this is Dick Darrell,” replied Charley, pointing to his friend. “Come in.”
The Indian entered the room with solemn tread and an expression of imperturbable gravity upon his swarthy face.
“I suppose this is Doctor Dan!” exclaimed Dick, extending his hand. “I’m glad to see you, I’m sure.”