Here the Steam Horse came to a halt, and the avenger started abruptly from the dark train of thought that had absorbed his mind.
Frank walked up to him.
“Come, sir,” he said, kindly, “I sympathize deeply with you, but it will do you no good to brood over your troubles. You cannot forget them, nor your vow of vengeance, so nursing your hatred in this dark and gloomy manner can do no good. What is your name?”
“Jared Dwight.”
“And mine is Frank Reade, of the city of New York, and my companion here is Barney Shea, of Clonakilty, Ireland.”
“I know you both,” said Dwight, as with an effort of will he shook off the dark cloud hanging over his spirits. “I was with Snap Carter, the prairie guide, when we were all penned up in that blind pass, and you rescued us by cutting through with your Steam Man, dashing away to the fort, and bringing the soldiers down upon the outlaws. I knew that it must be you when I saw this Steam Horse coming over the plains when my house was burning under me, for it is just what I expected of you.”
“Oh, it’s a wonderful gossoon he is, so he is,” said Barney, casting a look of pride upon Frank, “and it’s rare foine ideas he has, so he has: but divil a wan would amount to anything if I didn’t come wid the braw jaynus to kape him straight.”
With a faint smile the avenger turned from him, and walked to the bubbling crystal spring.
Frank had made a dive into the body of the wagon.
Here he had constructed a locker or larder, and kept in it a sufficient quantity of food to last several days if need be; for his food was nearly all dried or else condensed, and could be kept in a pure state for several months.