"When does the train stop?"
"In less than ten minutes."
Jet made his preparations for leaving by removing the coat which one of the company had contributed for his comfort, but the manager insisted that he keep it, and when he stepped upon the platform of a small station while the train continued on, it was with a very decided sense of loneliness.
His first care was to buy a new hat.
His messenger's cap was too conspicuous, and afforded positive means of identification in case he met with any one who had read the advertisement.
Then came the question as to whether he should return by the train at the expense of his small capital, or walk at the expense of time.
"It ain't certain they stayed in that town after knockin' me down, an' I stand as good a chance of meetin' 'em on the road as anywhere else, so I'll tramp it."
After investing twenty cents in crackers and cheese, and consulting with the station master as to whether it would be advisable for him to follow the track or the carriage road, Jet set out on his journey.
"Counting ties" was not as easy a job as he had fancied, and after an hour's steady walking he sat down to rest a short distance from the road, in the shelter of a shanty which looked as if it might originally have been intended for a tool-house when that portion of the road was being built.
He had not yet fully recovered from the effects of the murderous blow, and the steady traveling tired him to such an extent that it became necessary to lie down.