Early the next morning Dick and his four boy friends were on their way to the West. Their train was an express and the first stop was at a large city, where several railroads formed a junction. As the boys were looking from the window of the parlor car, Tim, who managed to take his eyes away from the gorgeous fittings long enough to notice what was going on up and down the long station platform, suddenly uttered an exclamation, and grabbed Dick's arm.
"Look! Dere he is!" he whispered.
"Who?"
"Vanderhoof! Colonel Dendon! Bond Broker Bill!"
"Where? I don't see anyone."
"Dat slick-lookin' man, wid de brown hat on," and Tim pointed to him.
"But he hasn't any black moustache," objected Dick, thinking Tim's imagination was getting the best of him.
"Of course not. He's cut it off. But I'd know him anywhere by dat scar on his left cheek. Dat's de swindler all right!"
As Dick looked he saw that the man with the brown hat did have a large scar on his cheek. It had been hidden by the moustache before.
Then, just as the train pulled out, the man looked toward the parlor car. His eyes met Dick's, and, an instant later, the man with the scar was on the run toward the telegraph office.