"All right. Then I'll give your checks to an expressman, and he'll bring the trunks to the hotel. Right over this way."
Mortimer De Royster led Roy through the crowd, to the express office. The matter of the baggage was soon attended to, and the agent promised to have the trunk and large valise at the hotel before night. It was now four o'clock.
"Come on!" cried De Royster again, pushing his way through the crowd, with Roy who carried a small valise, containing a few clothes, following close after him.
"Wait a minute!" again called the boy from the ranch.
"What's the matter now?"
"I want to sort of get my bearings. This is a new trail to me, and I'd like to get the lay of the land. Say, what's all the stampede about? These folks are milling, ain't they?"
"Stampede? This isn't a stampede. They're in a rush to get the ferry boat. What do you mean by milling?"
"Why they're like cattle going around and around, and they don't seem to be getting anywhere."
"Oh, that's it, eh, my dear chap. Well, they're all anxious to get to New York, that's why they're rushing so. Come on or we'll miss the boat."
Mortimer De Royster led the way through the ferry house, and out on the boat. He took a seat in the ladies' cabin, and Roy sat down beside him. The dude had bought a paper, which he was glancing over, momentarily paying no attention to Roy.