Both were gazing, with no little wonder showing on their faces, at the unusual sight of a motor boat perched on a platform car at the summit of the Rocky Mountains. Clay stood hopeful for a moment, and then the train roared toward the grade to the east, winding down like a snake in the fading light.
CHAPTER II.—CAPTAIN JOE FOLLOWS A TRAIL.
Clay stood dejectedly for a moment, his hands in his pockets, his eyes following the streamer of smoke which marked the progress of the inhospitable train. Then the cabin door opened and a white bulldog with friendly eyes and a monster of a jaw walked forth in a dignified manner and sat down to look over the scenery.
“What do you think of that, Captain Joe?” Clay asked, patting the dog on the head. “Isn’t that just about the worst luck in the world? I wish you could grip that train by the cowcatcher and bring it back here. It ought to have helped us out.”
Captain Joe, looking in the direction of the column of smoke, fast disappearing, worked his lips into a snarl which showed a set of capable teeth. He evidently agreed with Clay as to the moral character of the person in charge of the train.
Case opened the cabin door and looked out, waving a pancake turner in one hand. He smiled when he noted Clay’s discouraged attitude.
“Fine, eh?” he cried. “If I had in a book all the things the Canadian Pacific people do not know about relieving a fellow in distress, I’d have the biggest volume ever printed!”
“Perhaps the people who left us here neglected to notify division headquarters,” suggested Clay, never willing to pass censure until all the facts were at hand. “Anyway, we’re probably here for the night, so we may as well make the best of it. Supper ready?”
“Hot on the table,” replied Case. “Where’s Alex?”
“He went down the grade, east, and will doubtless be back in a moment. Flag him with a pancake, and he’ll come running!”