"They're somewhere around the diggings. It wouldn't be a bad speculation for some bright genius to round them up. Why, say, Fairbanks, you're an ambitious kind of a fellow. I'll offer you an investment." "What's that, Mr. Fry?" inquired the young engineer. "I'll sell you the whole kit and caboodle in the car and out of it for twenty-five dollars." Ralph shook his head with a smile. "If I had time to spare I'd jump at your offer, Mr. Fry," he said. "As it is, what could I do with the proposition?" "Do?" retorted the claim agent. "Hire some boys to gather in the bunch. There may be five hundred chicks in the round up." "Really, I couldn't bother with it, Mr. Fry," began Ralph, and then he turned abruptly. Some one had pulled at his sleeve, and with a start the young engineer stared strangely at a boy about his own age. CHAPTER III TROUBLE BREWING The strange boy appeared upon the scene so suddenly that Ralph decided he must have reached the roadbed from the other side of the embankment. The young engineer faced him with a slight start. To his certain knowledge he had never seen the lad before. However, his face so strongly resembled that of some one he had met recently it puzzled Ralph. Whom did those features suggest? Ralph thought hard, but gave it up. "Did you wish to see me?" he inquired. The boy had a striking face. It was pale and thin, his clothes were neat but shabby. There was a sort of scared look in his eyes that appealed to Ralph, who was strongly sympathetic. "I know you," spoke the boy in a hesitating, embarrassed way. "You don't know me, but I've had you pointed out to me." "That so?" and Ralph smiled. "You are Ralph Fairbanks, the engineer of the Overland Express," continued the lad in a hushed tone, as if the distinction awed him. "That's right," nodded Ralph. "Well, I've heard of you, and you've been a friend to a good many people. I hope I'm not over bold, but if you would be a friend to me--" Here the strange boy paused in a pitiful, longing way that appealed to Ralph. "Go ahead," he said. "I heard this gentleman," indicating Mr. Fry, "offer to sell the chickens down the embankment. I'm a poor boy, Mr. Fairbanks--dreadfully poor. There's reasons why I can't work in the towns like other boys. You can give me work, though--you can just set me on my feet." "How can I do that?" inquired Ralph, getting interested. "By buying me those chickens. I've got the place for them, I've got the time to attend to them, and I know just how to handle them. Why," continued the speaker excitedly, "there's nearly two hundred in prime trim gathered in a little thicket over yonder, and there's double that number among the wreckage, besides those that are hurt that I can nurse and mend up. If you will buy them for me, I'll solemnly promise to return you the money in a week and double the amount of interest in two." "You talk clear and straight and earnest, my lad," here broke in the claim agent. "What's your name?"