In spite of his roughness, Bob liked the freckle-faced person, and he had proved that he was far from stupid.
"You've evidently seen tricky oil men," he said guardedly. "Do you work in the oil fields? I'm going to Oklahoma."
"Me for Texas," announced his companion. "I change at the next junction. No, the nearest I ever come to working in the oil fields is filling tanks for the cars in my father's garage. But o' course I know oil—the streets run with it down our way, and they use it to flush the irrigation system. And I've seen some of the raw deals these sharpers put through—doing widows and orphans out of their land. Makes you have a mighty small opinion of the law, I declare it does."
As he spoke the train slowed up, then stopped.
"No station," puzzled the Texan. "Let's go and find out the trouble."
He started for the door, and then the train started, bumped, and came to a standstill again.
"You go ahead!" shouted Bob. "I have to go back and see that my friend is all right."
