They had no further enjoyment of the scenery. Each flitting telegraph pole meant that they were drawing farther away from Chicago and losing so much more time in resuming their journey to the West. At length the train began to slow down and, looking out, they saw that they were approaching a small railway town with an immense water tank.
The porter came to the door of the compartment.
"Heah's de fust stop," he told them. "You kin git a train back to Chicago fum heah!"
He took their luggage and, when the train came to a stop, the boys got out onto the platform.
"Now I wonder how long we'll have to wait before we get a train back," remarked Frank.
His eye caught a bulletin board in front of the little station and he went over to it. At length he found what he sought, a late train bound for Chicago, and he almost groaned as he noted the time.
"There won't be a train along for five hours," he reported to Joe.
"Good-night!"
"That means we've got to cool our heels around here until dark. Five solid hours."
Dolefully, they confronted the bulletin board. A young man in a heavy ulster and tweed cap was also studying it. He glanced toward them.