Having turned this matter over in his mind for a short time he let himself out by the trap-door as stealthily as possible, although quite sure that there could be no one within half-a-mile; sprang to the ground on the side of the car furthest from the farmer’s house, and presently commenced to walk unconcernedly across the prairie to the north-west. The country was not closely settled, and he soon ventured to follow a trail leading away from the railroad. The walking was not bad here, as the district seemed to have been out of the direct path of the storm, and he soon found himself swinging along the road at a good rate. He knew that ten or twelve miles to the northward was another line of railway, and it occurred to him that it would be good policy to walk across and divert his patronage to the other company. It would at least make him less easily followed.
The sun was high and the day was warm, and white, blocky clouds floated in the sky like icebergs in a sea of blue. The gophers played along the trail, and, far above, a hawk, pinioned on motionless wings, spied the plain for the more unwary. The memory of the night before, of the experience of the past thirty-six hours, hid itself behind a mist of unreality; but there was a vacant soreness, a sensation of pain as from some deep wound now healing, a pain so keen that it was part pleasure. A frost-bite and a burn are similar in their nature and their effect, and there is a point at which joy can scarce be distinguished from pain. A sense of loss may in itself become an asset; adversity and rejection, instead of crushing some men down, force them forward and upward. Such a spirit was Burton’s; as he walked along the prairie trail a resolution took shape in his heart that he yet would show “them”—meaning his little world—the stuff of which he was made.
His reverie was broken by a blast of a horn which caused him to jump clear of the roadway. Looking hurriedly around, he saw behind him an automobile with only the driver on board, and the broad smile on the latter’s face indicated his amusement at the young man’s nervousness. Burton’s first thought was that he had been followed; that his bail had been withdrawn, and he would be taken back and thrown into jail. But there was no menace in the kindly eye of the automobilist, as he brought his car to a stop.
“Jump in,” he called, “we are going the same way, let us travel together.”
Burton found no excuse for refusal, and obeyed.
In a moment the car was again in motion, but the driver, a man of fifty or thereabouts, found time to catechize his guest.
“Going far?” he demanded.
“Yes, quite a distance.”
“Live hereabouts?”
“No, down the line.”