He saw only darkness rushing past, but he knew that he had left Kentucky behind, and it seemed to him that he had come into an alien land, a land of future friends, no doubt, but as yet, the land of the stranger.
All the people in the train were awakening, and were gathering their baggage sleepily about them.

But the stranger, who drank from the silver cup, seemed not to have been asleep at all.

He still sat rigidly erect, and his melancholy look had not abated.

His valise lay on the seat beside him.

Harry noticed that it was large and strong, with metal clasps at the corners.
The engine was whistling already for Nashville, and Harry threw his saddle bags over his arm.