Hearing himself addressed as Nichols was a distinct shock to the boy, but to be taken for the son of the vice-president of the railroad completely dumfounded him, and for a moment he was on the point of denying the assumption. Then his promise to adopt the name recurred to him and he decided that Mr. Nichols' failure to disclaim relationship was probably with a purpose, so he just muttered something as though in answer to the first question and said aloud:
"I should be obliged if you would direct me to the hotel. I suppose they will send for my trunk."
"I'll direct you, of course," returned the agent, "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.