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Bob mingled with the crowd and finally drifted into the moving picture show. His mind was busy with his problem and he did not pay as much attention as usual to the scenes that were flashed before him on the screen. He became aware, however, even in the dim light, that directly in front of him sat an Indian, seemingly alone. A little to the left were a crowd of Mexicans, who, from their boisterous behavior, seemed to have been able to smuggle some whiskey into the camp, which, of course, was absolutely forbidden on a Government job.,

Fearing that his appearance would cause a sensation, Bob waded and then swam across the shallow river and struck off to one side, meaning to circle around to the upper camp. Then he could slip into the Quarter-house by the back way.,

“It’s—it’s just that I haven’t ever had a family like other fellows. There isn’t a soul who’d care a bit whether I’d been drowned to-day or not. If I get along, it’s all by myself. Somehow it doesn’t seem worth while.”,

When they entered the town, they saw that it was full of men and women, and that they all wore clothes made of peacocks' feathers, and that these were evidently considered fine things, for every place was covered with them. They met the King, who was driving in a beautiful little carriage of gold, studded with diamonds, and drawn by twelve peacocks at full gallop. This King of the Peacocks was so handsome, that the King and the Prince were delighted; he had long, light, curly hair, fair complexion, and wore a crown of peacocks' feathers. Directly he saw them, he guessed, seeing that they wore a different costume to the people of the country, that they were strangers, and wishing to ascertain if this was so, he ordered his carriage to stop, and sent for them.

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When at last the jolting cars stopped, they found a car waiting, into which the three piled. Once under way, Bob asked Mr. Whitney, “Doesn’t the railroad go into the camp? It seems to me it must be pretty heavy hauling all the big machinery from here across the desert.”,

This was signed with nothing less than the Principal’s name. Not just a teacher’s—no, thank you! A credit to the school. The whistling grew louder and more piercing. A credit to the school. He was going straight to Father with this report, and would lay it right under Father’s nose.,

“Yes, he said it was balm.”,

Deep silence.