"You'll send 'em now—right now," announced Dave.
"Say, are you the president of the road?" bristled the agent.
"You'll lose yore job within forty-eight hours if you don't send them telegrams now. I'll see to that personal." Dave leaned forward and looked at him steadily.
The conductor spoke to the agent, nodding his head insolently toward
Dave. "Young-man-heap-swelled-head," he introduced him.
But the agent had had a scare. It was his job at stake, not the conductor's. He sat down sulkily and sent the messages.
The conductor read his orders and walked to the door. "Number 17 leaving.
All aboard," he called back insolently.
"I'm stayin' here till I hear from the superintendent," answered Dave flatly. "You leave an' you've got them cattle to look out for. They'll be in yore care."
The conductor swaggered out and gave the signal to go. The train drew out from the station and disappeared around a curve in the track. Five minutes later it backed in again. The conductor was furious.
"Get aboard here, you hayseed, if you're goin' to ride with me!" he yelled.
Dave was sitting on the platform whittling a stick. His back was comfortably resting against a truck. Apparently he had not heard.