Part 17 (1/2)

Dan Baxter felt particularly downcast and desperate. Since the capture of Lew Flapp, he had been without a companion in whom to confide, and the peculiar loneliness among utter strangers was beginning to tell on him. This was one reason why he had told Sack Todd so much of his story.

Coming to the end of the timber and brush-wood, he saw, lying before him in something of a valley, the town of Cottonton, consisting of several well laid out streets and an outlying district of pretty homes. At a distance was the regular road, but so far his enemies were not in sight.

The ride had made Baxter hungry and, reaching the town, he lost no time in hunting up a modest restaurant on a side street, where, he hoped, the Rovers would not find him.

”What can you give me for dinner?” he asked. ”I want something good.”

A number of dishes were named over, and he selected roast beef, potatoes, beans, coffee and pie. He was quickly served, and pitched in with a will.

”Riding makes a fellow feel hungry,” he explained to the proprietor of the eating house, who hovered near.

”Yes, sah, so it does. Going to stay in town, sah?”

”I don't know yet. I'm just looking around.”

”Yes, sah, certainly. If you stay, I'll be pleased to furnish meals regularly, sah.”

”I'll remember that.”

Having disposed of the meal and also an extra cup of coffee, Dan Baxter called for a cigar and lit it. Then he hauled out the twenty-dollar bill. As he did so, he gave a slight start. He had handled a good deal of money in his time, and the bank bill looked just a bit peculiar to him.

”What if it isn't good?” he asked himself.

”Forty-five cents, please,” said the restaurant keeper. His usual price for such a meal was thirty cents, but he thought Baxter could stand the raise.

”Sorry I haven't a smaller bill,” answered the bully coolly. ”I ought to have asked the bank cas.h.i.+er to give me smaller bills.”

”I reckon I can change it, sah,” said the restaurant man, thinking only of the extra fifteen cents he was to receive.

”Take out half a dollar and have a cigar on me,” continued Baxter magnanimously.

”Yes, sah; thank you, sah!” said the man.

He fumbled around, and in a minute counted out nineteen dollars and a half in change. Pocketing the amount, the bully walked out, mounted his horse once more and rode away.

”Nice chap, to pay forty-five cents and then treat me to a cigar,”

thought the restaurant keeper. ”Wish I had that sort coming in every day.”

He lit the cigar and smoked it with a relish, particularly so as it had not cost him anything. He put the twenty-dollar bill away, to use when he should go to a neighboring city to buy some household goods, two days later.

When he went to buy his things, they came to twenty-six dollars, and he pa.s.sed over the new twenty-dollar bill, and also an old one received some weeks before.

”I'll have to get change at the bank,” said the store keeper, and left his place to do so. In a few minutes he came back in a hurry.

”See here,” he cried. ”They tell me one of these bills is a counterfeit.”

”A counterfeit!” gasped the restaurant man.

”So the bank cas.h.i.+er says.”

”Which bill?”