George in Camp; or, Life on the Plains

by Harry Castlemon

“There,” said he, as soon as he had settled his head on the pillow. “Where are you now, Mr. Sam Holmes? I’ve got my money, and you are none the wiser for it. I knew I could outwit you when the time came.”

While Gus was waiting to hear from his check he had ample leisure to perfect all his plans, and now nothing remained to be done but to pack his valise with the clothing he had already selected and laid by itself, and go down to the depôt in time to catch the westward-bound train which passed through Foxboro’ at half-past eight in the evening. He was somewhat nervous, for he knew that at the very last moment a thousand things might happen to interfere with his arrangements: but he did not think of the step he was about to take with the least regret. He knew when his father and brother came home at supper time, and heard them when they went out to return to the store. After that his mother brought him up some delicacies that sick people are supposed to relish; but Gus, although he was by this time very hungry, said he didn’t care for anything, and besides he showed so plainly that he didn’t want his mother in his room, that she went down stairs and left him to himself again.

There was no fear of interruption after that, and Gus set about completing the preparations for his flight. He quickly packed his valise, put his money carefully away in his pocket, stopped long enough to eat all the supper his mother had brought up to him, then seized his valise and crept down stairs and out of the house. He made his way toward the depôt, avoiding the principal streets as much as he could, and finally reached the railroad about a quarter of a mile above the place where the trains stopped. There was a freight-house opposite the depôt, and toward this Gus now directed his course, intending to wait there in the dark until the train arrived. He could thus avoid the crowd which always gathered about the platform at train time, and by boarding the cars on the side opposite the depôt, he could escape observation.

“That’s what I want to do,” said the runaway to himself, as he took his stand in a dark doorway and looked down the track to see if he could discover any signs of the approaching train, “for of course I wouldn’t be very smart if I were to let any of these loafers see me. They would all want to know where I was going, and then when my folks began to make inquiries about me, they would say they had seen me take the train for Chicago. I wouldn’t like to have that known, for there are such things as telegraphs and detectives in this country.”

If Gus had only known it, he was putting himself to a great deal of unnecessary trouble. It might have astonished him to know that even if his father had been thoroughly posted in all his plans, he would have made no effort to prevent Gus from carrying them into execution. The boy found this out in due time, and we shall tell about it in its proper place.

A good many incidents that were really worthy of note happened during Gus’s journey to Texas, but we have so many things to write about that are more interesting that we must pass them by without further notice. We have set out to tell what Gus did and how he enjoyed himself in Texas; and it will be enough now to say that he made the journey in safety; that Ned’s instructions were so plain and complete that he had no difficulty in finding his way; and that in due time the mail-coach deposited him on the verandah of the principal hotel in Palos.

CHAPTER VI.
A FRONTIER HOTEL.

By the time Gus reached Palos he had lost a good deal of the “style” for which he had been noted in Foxboro’, and if some of the numerous acquaintances he had left there could have seen him when he stepped out of the stage and passed through the crowd of cattle-herders, ranchemen and idlers who had gathered on the verandah of the hotel to see the coach come in, they would hardly have taken him for Gus Robbins. If some of the boys who think so much of themselves could get out among entire strangers for a while they would very soon see how small is the space they occupy in the world, and how comparatively useless they are. This was just what Gus had been finding out. He had learned a good deal during his travels, and he had already seen the time when he would have been glad to face about and go back where he came from.

The people he met were different in every way from those with whom he had been in the habit of associating. The majority of them were rough in person, dress and manners; and although they treated him civilly, and were always ready to answer his questions and give him all the information they could concerning the journey before him, Gus was afraid of them and felt like avoiding them as much as he could. The nearer he approached to the frontier the rougher the men became. A good many of them wore red shirts without any coats, high boots, carried revolvers in their belts and looked more like brigands than peaceable, law-abiding citizens. The crowd on the verandah were all armed; and although they stepped politely out of his way, Gus could not help shuddering as he passed through their ranks. The man who met him at the door and took his valise out of his hand, and who proved to be the landlord, looked worse than any of the rest. He wore no weapons, but the brace of navy six-shooters that were hung up in the office toward which he conducted his guest, showed that he was ready for any emergency. He looked equal to any emergency, too. He was a giant in size, very muscular, and the voice that came up from his broad chest was as loud as a steam-whistle.