“I don’t know that I can do anything better,” replied Gus.
“You don’t want anything better if you manage rightly,” said the man. “I have known young fellows like you and your partner to start out with a few head of stock and make themselves rich before they were forty years old. But of course they worked hard and attended strictly to business. That’s the only way to get on in this world. Now, my friend, we shall not need your light any longer.”
Ned was glad indeed when the squatter dropped the blanket to its place and went out with his fire-brand. He was glad, too, that the ranchemen were tired and sleepy, for he did not want to hear them talk. He was afraid that they might address some of their remarks to him. They did not know him in his cousin’s clothes, and they did not recognise his face for the reason that they had not obtained a fair view of it on the night they visited the rancho; but they had heard his voice, and they might remember it if they heard it again. So Ned determined that he would not speak. He pretended to fall asleep immediately, but the fact was he did not sleep a wink that night. The mere presence of the men who were hunting him so perseveringly was enough to keep him wide awake. The long hours of night had never dragged so slowly away before, nor had Ned ever longed so impatiently for the daylight. The first gray streaks of dawn which came creeping in through the wide cracks in the walls around the slumbering ranchemen who, after exchanging a few words in a low tone of voice, arose and left the room, taking their blankets and saddles with them. Ned heard them in conversation with the squatter, and wished most heartily that the latter would not be so persistent in his efforts to keep them until breakfast was over. He did not want the ranchemen to see him by daylight, and he was overjoyed to hear them declare that all they wanted was a cold bite, and if their host would provide them with that they would be off. The cold bite was speedily forthcoming, and when the ranchemen had done full justice to it, they mounted their horses and rode away. Then Ned breathed easily for the first time in long hours.
This was the last adventure that befell our young travellers while they were on their way to Brownsville. They never went a mile out of their way; they fared well along the route, and their meals and lodging did not cost them a cent. The door of any rancho or farm-house that happened to be in sight when night came was open to them, the owner treated them like honored guests, and always refused to accept any remuneration. They rode into Brownsville one morning about ten o’clock. Having made inquiries at their last night’s stopping-place they knew the name of the best hotel and where to go to find it, and toward it they directed their course. Giving their horses in charge of a man who came out to meet them as they drew up in front of the door, they went in, and Ned, having signed his name to the register, called for a room.
“Gus has treated me as though I wasn’t Ned Ackerman at all,” thought he, as he followed the bell-boy up the stairs. “He has travelled on his own hook, leaving me to take care of myself, and now I am going to pay him back in his own coin. He ought to come and make things straight with me, if he only knew it, for he can’t have the cheek to go home again after what he has done.”
But Gus had not the slightest intention of making things straight. He had had quite enough of his old friend, and he was just as independent as Ned was. He did not register his name, but went into the wash-room, and after removing all the travel-stains from his hands, face and clothing, he came out, and left the hotel. It was a long time before Ned heard where he went and what he did.
Meanwhile, Ned was working hard with a brush broom, a piece of soap and a coarse towel, to make himself presentable; but when he got through and took a look at himself in the mirror, he was anything but pleased with the result. His hands and face were very brown, and his red shirt looked as though it had been through two or three wars. “I can’t stand this. I am ashamed of myself,” thought he. “I noticed as I came along, that there were a good many stylish young fellows on the street, and I am not going among them with such clothes as these on. Fortunately, I have money enough to rig myself out equal to the best of them. If I only had my nobby suit now, wouldn’t I make folks stare?”
Ned went down stairs and out of the hotel. When he returned, about half an hour later, he carried a satchel in his hand and a bundle under his arm. He made his way to his room, and when he came out again, no one who had seen him when he rode into town would have taken him for the same boy. Gus Robbins would have been obliged to look twice at him before he could have recognised him. His cousin’s coarse clothing had been exchanged for a broadcloth suit of the latest and most fashionable cut, and the wearer looked like a dapper young clerk out for a holiday.
Being satisfied now that he could appear on the streets without attracting any but admiring glances, Ned went down to the office. The clerk was not there, and while the boy stood leaning against the counter, waiting for him to come in so that he could give him his key, he heard a voice behind him—a familiar voice, that made the cold chills creep all over him. He knew who the owner of the voice was, but some strange fascination compelled him to turn his head and look at him over his shoulder. There were two men standing in front of the counter with the register before them. One held a pen in his hand, and was on the point of writing his name, when another name above the first vacant line attracted his attention.
“Why, look here, Joe,” said he. “‘Edward Ackerman.’ That’s our man. He was coming to Brownsville, you know.”