The reason that Glen Eddy disappeared after running that engine so splendidly, and bringing the night express safely to its destination, was that he was diffident and nervous.  Now that the strain was relaxed and he had time to think of the terrible risks run by that train while under his inexperienced guidance, he was seized with a sudden fright.  Queerly enough, he felt almost guilty, as though he had done something wrong, or to be ashamed of.  Suppose somebody should try to thank him.  Suppose the crowd, now surging about the door of the baggage-car, should turn their attention to him, and come to gaze at him as a part of the show that had attracted them.  What should he do in either case?  It would be unbearable.  He must make good his escape before either of these things happened.

The wounded men were being carefully lifted from one side of the baggage-car.  Everybody’s attention was for the moment directed to that spot.  So Glen slipped down from the locomotive cab on the opposite side, and ran back to the sleeper in which were his belongings.  The car was deserted and empty.  Its passengers, and everybody connected with it, had either gone up town or joined the curious throng about the baggage-car.  Thus nobody saw the boy, as, securing his valise and rifle, he slipped from the rear end of the car and walked rapidly away.  He plunged into one of the tunnel-like streets running back from the railroad, not knowing, nor caring, where it would lead him.  His only idea was to escape, he did not even know from what.  It had so taken possession of him, that he almost felt as though he were being pursued, with the danger, at any moment, of being overtaken, and dragged ignominiously back to be ­thanked and made a hero of.

Kansas City, which has since enjoyed such an astonishing growth and prosperity, was at that time very young.  It was still burrowing through the high and steep bank of stiff red clay that separated its river front from the main street of the newer portion perched on the bluff.  Several cross streets, connecting these two parts of the city, had been dug out with infinite labor, to a great depth through the red clay, and it was up one of these that Glen now walked.

He was so far below the level of the airy building-lots on either side that he could not see whether they were occupied or not.  Only an occasional long flight of wooden steps, leading up from the street, led him to suppose they might be.  He was beginning to wonder where the city was, or if there were any more of it beyond the straggling business street that bordered the railroad, when he came to the main thoroughfare of the new town, and gazed about him with amazement.  Although it was yet so early that the sun had only just risen, the broad avenue presented a scene of the most lively activity.

In Brimfield the erection of a new house, or building of any kind, was a matter of general interest that afforded a topic of conversation for weeks.  Here were dozens, yes, scores of them, springing up in every direction.  A few were of brick; but most of those intended for business purposes were long and low, though furnished with pretentious false fronts that towered as high again as the roof itself.  Everywhere was heard the din of hammer and saw, or the ring of the mason’s trowel, and in every direction Glen could see the city growing, spreading, and assuming new aspects as he gazed.

At length a pang of hunger recalled him to his present situation, and he inquired of a man, who was hurrying past, the way to the Kaw House.

“Up there a piece,” answered the man almost without pausing, and pointing vaguely up the street.  “There comes the surveyor’s wagon from there now,” he added, nodding his head towards one, drawn by two mules, that was dashing in their direction at that moment.

The surveyor’s wagon.  Then, perhaps, Mr. Brackett was in it, thought Glen.  Acting on the impulse of the moment, he sprang into the middle of the street, and waved his rifle in the faces of the advancing mules.  The driver reined them in sharply, and the team came to a standstill.  “Hello, young fellow, what do you want now?” he shouted.

“I want to know if Mr. Brackett is in this wagon,” answered Glen.

“Yes, he is, and that’s my name,” said a pleasant-faced young man, dressed in a red-flannel shirt, a pair of army trousers tucked into his boot-legs, and what had once been a stylish cutaway coat, who sat beside the driver.  “What can I do for you?”

For answer Glen handed him Mr. Hobart’s note, which the young man glanced quickly through.

“I see by this that you are to be a member of our party,” he said, as he finished reading it, “and that the chief will not be here for a day or two yet.  I am very glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Matherson.  Boys, this is Mr. Glen Matherson, our new ­Well, we will see what position he will occupy later.  Now, Matherson, we are off for our day’s work.  Would you rather accompany us into the thick of the fray, or will you wend your weary way to the hotel, and while away the hours until our return, surrounded by its gloomy grandeur?”

“I think I would rather go with you, sir,” replied Glen, who did not know whether to laugh or not at Mr. Brackett’s words and tone.

“’Tis well, and go with us you shall.  So tumble into the chariot, and stow yourself away wherever you can find room.  Then let us on with speed.”

“But I left Mr. Hobart’s things and some of my own on board the train,” said Glen, hesitatingly, “and here are the checks for them.”

This difficulty was settled by the hailing of a dray, and instructing its driver to get the articles called for by the checks, and carry them, together with Glen’s valise, to the hotel.  The boy could not bear to trust his precious rifle out of his sight, and so carried it with him.

They had hardly started, when Mr. Brackett turned to Glen and asked him if he had been to breakfast.

This was a question in which the boy was greatly interested just at that moment, and he answered very promptly that he had not.

“Well, here’s a go!” exclaimed the other.  “A rule of this party is, Matherson, and I hope I shall never be obliged to repeat it to you, that if a man hath not eaten, neither shall he work.  It is now too late to return to Delmonico’s, so we must intrust you to the tender mercies of the Princess, and may she have mercy upon your appetite.  Joe, drive to the palace.”

The “palace” proved to be a patchwork shanty of the most unique and surprising description.  It was constructed of bits of board, pieces of boxes and barrels, stray shingles and clapboards, roofing-paper, and a variety of other odds and ends.  Its doors and windows had evidently been taken from some wrecked steamboat.  It was overrun with roses and honeysuckles; while within and without it was scrupulously neat and clean.

As the surveyor’s wagon with its noisy load drew up before this queer establishment, its mistress appeared at the door.  She was a fat, jolly-looking negress, wearing a gay calico dress, and a still more brilliant turban, and she was immediately greeted with shouts of “How are you, Princess?” “Good-morning, Princess!” “How’s her royal nibs to-day?” etc., to all of which she smiled and bowed, and courtesied with the utmost good-nature.

The moment he could make himself heard, Mr. Brackett said, “Princess, we have here a fainting wayfarer.  Can you provide him with a cup of nectar?”

“Yes, sah

“A dish of peacock’s tongues?”

“Sartin, sah

“And a brace of nightingale’s eggs on toast?”

“In about free minutes, sah

“Very well, hasten the feast and speed our departure; for we must hence, ere many nimble hours be flown.”

While waiting for his breakfast to be prepared, Glen had a chance to examine his new companions somewhat more closely than he had yet done.  There were eight of them, besides the driver of the wagon, mostly young men, some of them hardly more than boys; but all strong, healthy looking, and brown from long exposure to sun and wind.  Their dress was a medley of flannel, buckskin, and relics of high civilization.  They were as merry, careless, and good-natured a set of young fellows as could well be found, always ready for hard work in its time, and equally so for a frolic when the chance offered.  They all seemed to be on a perfect equality, called each other by their given names, and played practical jokes upon one another with impunity.  As their wagon clattered out of town in the morning, or dashed in again at dusk, its occupants generally sang the most rollicking of college or camp songs, at the top of their voices, and everybody had a kindly word or an indulgent smile for the young surveyors.

Foremost in all their fun was their temporary chief, whom Glen only knew as Mr. Brackett, but who was called “Billy” by all the others.  He was about twenty-five years old, and his position was that of transit-man; though, until Mr. Hobart should join the party, he was in charge of it.  To Glen, who had thus far only seen him off duty, it was incomprehensible that so frivolous a young man as “Billy” Brackett appeared should hold so responsible a position.

The party had recently returned from the front, where they had been locating a line of new road since earliest spring.  Now, while waiting to be sent out again, they were engaged in running in the side tracks, Y’s, and switches of what has since become one of the greatest railroad yards in the world.  It was on the state line, between Kansas and Missouri, about an hour’s drive from the Kaw House, where the surveyors made their headquarters.

In less than five minutes Glen found himself drinking the most delicious cup of coffee he had ever tasted; while into his hands were thrust a couple of sandwiches of hot corn-pones and crisp bacon.  These, with two hard-boiled eggs, furnished a most acceptable meal to the hungry-boy.  Mr. Brackett tossed a quarter to the “Princess,” and the wagon rolled merrily away with Glen eating his breakfast, as best he could, en route