Chad panted—"Where's—?"
"They're gone."
"Gone!" echoed Chad, with a sinking heart.
"Yes, they've been gone—" But Chad did not wait to listen; he whirled into the hall-way, caught up his rifle, and, forgetting his injured foot, fled at full speed down the street. He turned the corner, but could not see the station, and he ran on about another corner and still another, and, just when he was about to burst into tears, he saw the low roof that he was looking for, and hot, panting, and tired, he rushed to it, hardly able to speak.
"Has that enJINE gone?" he asked breathlessly. The man who was whirling trunks on their corners into the baggage-room did not answer. Chad's eyes flashed and he caught the man by the coat-tail.
"Has that enJINE gone?" he cried.
The man looked over his shoulder.
"Leggo my coat, you little devil. Yes, that enJINE'S gone," he added, mimicking. Then he saw the boy's unhappy face and he dropped the trunk and turned to him.
"What's the matter?" he asked, kindly.
Chad had turned away with a sob.