Save the main track, a siding which quickly lost itself in the forest, and an old freight car, they could see nothing but giant trees rearing their lofty tops all about them.
“Don’t you suppose there are any houses in Chikau?” asked Phil. “I wonder why the railroad makes a stop at such a place.” And he looked about him disconsolately, his courage failing as he beheld the forsaken spot they had selected as the location of their new home.
“There must be—somewhere,” declared his brother. “Let’s go up this switch, maybe the town is back from the main line. We can probably find the agent and give him the telegram.”
“Suppose we might as well do that as stay here; we must find a place to sleep.”
Before the boys had picked up their luggage, however, a big man, clad in corduroys, a blue and yellow bandanna about his neck, came running along the siding.
“Did 64 stop?” he gasped, winded by his haste.
“I don’t know whether it was 64 or not, but the train from Duluth did; that’s how we got here,” replied Ted.
“Just my luck! Hasn’t been a passenger stopped for three weeks, and when I go up to camp, 64 not only stops but leaves passengers. Reckon I’ll get called down good and plenty. Did the conductor say anything?”
From his words, the boys decided the man must be the station agent.
“He most certainly did,” returned Phil; whereat the boys laughed.