The great oil-burning locomotive roared in, casting heat-waves that smelled of steam, iron, and mechanical energy. The hot air sickened Winthrop.
A car was cut out and shunted to a siding. Then the engine, pausing to drink a gargantuan draught at the tank, simmered away in the dusk, clanking across the switch-points. A figure leaped from the freight-car to the ground. Then out came a burro and several bundles. The figure strode to the station and filled two canteens. Winthrop walked toward the burro. When he of the burro and canteens returned, he found Winthrop stroking the little animal's nose.
"What the—! How the—! Who lost you out here?" asked Overland.
Winthrop spoke rapidly and to the point. "Express this morning. Lonesome again. Thought I'd make a change. My outfit is over at the station. Don't say 'No' before you hear me. You're going to need me—tenderfeet and all."
"But you can't—"
"Wait. The local constable has a wire from the Los Angeles police to look out for you. Perhaps you got this far because you're traveling in a freight-car. No doubt all the passenger trains have been watched all along the line. The constable has been my—er—my guest since morning. He is asleep now. I had to do it. He told me, after either the sixth or seventh glass, I forget which, that he was looking for you. Come on over to the station and inspect my outfit, please. I think we had better vanish."
Overland breathed once, deeply. "Lead me to it!" he exclaimed. "You got my number. I guess you're some lame chicken, eh? No? I'll never call you a tenderfoot as long as I live. Shake!"
The inspection of the outfit was brief. "Take the Colts and the cartridges, and the blankets and the rope. T' hell with the rest."