"Here you are!" cried Sam, eagerly. "Rover." And the telegram was passed over. Hastily the envelope was torn open and the contents scanned. The boys looked at each other blankly. The telegram read as follows:
"No young man answering to name Tom Rover on this train. Will watch passengers closely as instructed.
"FOLSOM, Conductor."
"What do you make of this, Dick. Maybe Tom didn't use that ticket after he bought it," gasped Sam.
"But that ticket seller saw him rush for the gate. He must have gone on the train, Sam. He probably didn't answer to his name because if he is out of his mind he has forgotten what his real name is. And so long as he keeps quiet the trainmen won't suspect anything wrong with him."
"Perhaps we'll get another telegram at St. Paul."
"I hope so."
On and on rolled the train through the afternoon, coming presently to the shore of the upper Mississippi, with its wide stretches of marshland and its dead trees. It was not an inviting scene, and the two Rovers were glad enough, when the time came, to turn from it and go to the diner for dinner.
There was to be a stop of ten minutes at St. Paul and in that time the boys must make up their minds whether they were going to continue on that train or not. If they laid over, several more hours of precious time would be lost.
It was well towards midnight when the train reached St. Paul and a number of sleepy passengers got off and others got on. Dick and Sam waited impatiently for a messenger to appear. The telegram was there, sure enough, and this time it carried more interesting information.
"Queer-acting young man found, but says his name is Paul Haverlock. Says he is bound for Alaska. Wire positive instructions, as I can take no risks.
"FOLSOM, Conductor."