My guide untied the horses, gathered up the reins, and sought a spoke on his side of the wagon; he looked across at me with a gleam of humanity in his eyes--the first I had seen there.
"It sure beats hell the way it hangs on," he remarked, and from that minute I liked him.

It was the first crumb of sympathy that had fallen to me for days, and you can bet I appreciated it.
We got in, and he pulled a blanket over our knees and picked up the whip.
It wasn't a stylish turnout--I had seen farmers driving along the railroad-track in rigs like it, and I was surprised at dad for keeping such a layout.

Fact is, I didn't think much of dad, anyway, about that time.
"How far is it to the Bay State Ranch ?" I asked.
"One hundred and forty miles, air-line," said he casually.

"The train was late, so I reckon we better stop over till morning.

There's a town over the hill, and a hotel that beats nothing a long way." A hundred and forty miles from the station, "air-line," sounded to me like a pretty stiff proposition to go up against; also, how was a fellow going to put up at a hotel when he hadn't the coin?
Would my mysterious guide be shocked to learn that John A.Carleton's son and heir had landed in a strange land without two-bits to his name?
Jerusalem! I couldn't have paid street-car fare down-town; I couldn't even have bought a paper on the street.