As a result of this thoughtful provision, for nearly an hour preceding the departure of the Albany train the little Hatton railway-station presented one of the liveliest scenes in its history, and Rob was greatly affected by the innumerable evidences of esteem showered upon him by his school-mates. When the train finally pulled out, with our lad waving his hat from the rear platform of its last car, it was to an accompaniment of a hurricane of cheers and farewell shouts.
"Who is the most popular fellow in Hatton?" cried the leader of the academy rooters.
"R-o-b, Rob! H-i-n-c-k-l-e-y, Hinckley! Rob Hinckley! Hi-ho! Hi-ho! Good-bye!" was the answer shouted forth in tremendous chorus by every boy and girl present; and this was our young traveller's final farewell from the place that seemed his home more than any other in all the world.
For three days after leaving Albany, Rob journeyed swiftly and without untoward incident past Buffalo and Chicago, up into the great Northwest, through St. Paul, amid the vast wheat-fields of Minnesota and the Red River valley, over the limitless prairies of North Dakota, through the "Bad Lands" bordering the Little Missouri, and into the incredibly rich copper regions of Montana. Then came the dreadful day on which he lost his train, and with it all hope of catching the only advertised steamer to leave the "coast" for a week. It happened at Helena, where the train was to remain for fifteen minutes; and Rob, tired with being so long shut up in a car, decided to take a brisk walk into the town. He wanted to see something of the place, and needed the exercise.
So he set forth, walked as far as he dared, allowed too narrow a margin of time for his return, missed his way, and finally regained the station only to see his train pulling out from its farther end. For a second he could not believe his eyes. Then he ran madly after the disappearing cars, screaming for them to stop. Even in the blindness of his excitement a moment of this effort convinced him of its folly, and he halted on the edge of the platform, while two great, scalding tears, that he had no heart to repress, coursed slowly down his cheeks.
[CHAPTER XI]
ACCEPT A KINDNESS AND PASS IT ALONG
"Is it as bad as all that, my boy?" asked a kindly voice at Rob's elbow; and the lad, turning quickly, looked into the sympathetic face of a United States army officer, whose khaki uniform was faced with red.
Captain John Astley, commanding Battery Z of Field Artillery, returning from leave in the East, had been placed in temporary charge of a body of recruits ordered to Vancouver Barracks, near Portland, Oregon, which was his station. He had stopped at Helena en route, to pick up a few more newly enlisted men, and, being at the railway-station that morning, was attracted by Rob's running and shouting after his rapidly vanishing train. Captain Astley was tender-hearted, as are all brave men; and, noting our young traveller's genuine distress, he impulsively stepped forward to inquire into its cause. As he saw tears on the lad's cheeks, he knew it must be serious, for Rob did not look like a fellow from whose eyes tears could easily be extracted.