The conductor walked away, and Cholly looked at Solomon, faintly gasping: "Thith gentleman! Gweat Scott!" Then he seemed to collapse. Solomon grinned, and lifted his hat to the conductor. Then he turned to Cholly. "Vill you half a pottle uf der Nearf Regulador ad dwendy cends?" "Let me out!" gurgled the dude. "I will not stay heaw and be inthulted!" "Set down," advised the Jew. "You ain'd bought a pottle uf medicine, und I can'd boder to mofe vor you." Cholly fell back into his seat, giving up the struggle. He turned his head away, and looked out of the window, while Solomon talked to him for ten minutes, without seeming to draw a breath. Cholly, however, could not be induced to purchase a single bottle of the "Nearf Regulador." All through this, Mr. Walker had not seemed to remove his keen eyes from the face of the boy at his side. The lad apparently enjoyed the affair between the Jew and the dude as much as any one in the car, laughing merrily, and seeming quite at ease. Somehow, Walker did not seem to be pleased at all. He appeared like a man with a very little sense of humor, or he had so much of grave importance on his mind that he did not observe what was going on behind him. When Cholly De Smythe had collapsed, and the Jew had ceased to talk, the boy squared about in his seat, and seemed to settle to take things in the most comfortable manner possible. He pulled his hat over his forehead, and continued his perusal of the newspaper. This did not satisfy his seat mate. "You seem to be very interested in that paper," said Walker. "I am," was the curt return, and the boy continued reading. "You are not much of a talker." "You are." "H'm! Ha! I am; I am very sociable." "So I observed." "I have been wondering what we would do if a band of robbers was to hold up this train." "I am sure I cannot tell what I would do. I scarcely think any person can tell what he would do in such a case till he meets the emergency." "I presume you go armed?" "In the West--yes." Walker's thin nose seemed to resemble a wedge which he was driving deeper and deeper with each question. "Would you mind permitting me to look at your revolver?" "Yes." The boy uttered that word, and remained silent, without offering to take the weapon out. Walker coughed. "H'm! Ha! I think you misunderstood me." "I think not." "I asked you if you would mind letting me look at your revolver." "And I said I would mind." "Oh!" The Jew's voice sounded in Walker's ear. "I haf a revolfer vat I vill sell you sheep. Id vas a recular taisy, selluf-cocker, und dirty-dwo caliber. Here id vas, meester. Id vas loated, so handle id vid care. Vat you gif vor dat peautiful revolfer, meester?" Walker took the weapon, glanced into the cylinder, to see that it was actually loaded, and then suddenly thrust it against the head of Frank, crying, sharply: "Hands up, Black Harry! You are my prisoner!" CHAPTER III. A THRILLING ACCUSATION.