Frank found Mr. Mackworth and Sam Skinner at the dimly lit depot in consultation with the night telegraph operator. Rexford being a town of a thousand or more inhabitants and a railroad junction point with many switch tracks, freight cars and railway buildings, the escape of the thief was not difficult. As the sloping sides of the mountains reached down to the town on two sides, there were avenues for successful flight over the rough and dark trails. Therefore, further pursuit was abandoned.

“Anyway,” remarked Mr. Mackworth, “we haven’t lost anything. And if we could catch the man we wouldn’t care to stay to prosecute him.”

“Why, what’s the matter, Frank?” he exclaimed as he caught sight of the boy’s pale face and saw him tremble.

“I guess it’s where he kicked me,” explained Frank trying to make light of his injury.

[158]

Instantly Mr. Mackworth had Frank’s coat and shirt off. On his chest near the left shoulder was a dull red mark, something like a shoe heel in shape and rapidly turning black.

“Why didn’t you tell me of this?” exclaimed Frank’s uncle with concern. “Does it hurt you?”

“Not much,” answered the boy, “except when I touch it.”

Sam Skinner pushed Mr. Mackworth aside and began an examination of the bruise with all the practical skill of an outdoor surgeon. As he ran his hands over the boy’s chest Frank winced and turned paler.

“No bones broken,” reported Sam confidently, as he pressed on Frank’s collar bone and shoulder joint while the boy gritted his teeth.

“Cough!” ordered Sam.

Frank did so, Sam holding his ear to the boy’s chest.

“Spit!” ordered Sam.

Frank laughed and complied as well as he could. Sam nodded his head.

“Only a bruise,” he explained. “Nothin’ hurt inside. A little liniment and he’ll be all right in a day or two.”

[159]

“I certainly hope so,” said Mr. Mackworth as he helped Frank to get into his shirt again. “I wouldn’t have you hurt, my boy, for all that’s in the Teton. You certainly saved our shooting outfits and, like as not, our lives as well. We’ve got both to thank you for.”

“There wasn’t anything else to do,” replied Frank. “And say,” he added, “I reckon there ain’t any need to say anything about this is there? I don’t want any hero business.”

“You’ll have to leave that to me,” responded his uncle as they made their way back to the car. Frank got out the medicine kit his mother had given him and Sam rubbed him with liniment. At three o’clock, Frank crawled into his berth again. Lying still his bruise did not pain him, but when Phil awoke him about seven o’clock the boy’s shoulder was black and blue, and his arm was stiff.

The town by daylight was far from being as interesting as the boys had hoped. The altitude was not great—not more than 4,000 feet—but the distant view both east and west revealed mountain ranges, snow crowned in places. North of the town and in a lower valley the[160] Kootenai River wound a bending course. Along this the party was now to make its way into Canada.

Frank had not figured on the need of an explanation to account for Mr. Mackworth’s ruined trunk and, therefore, the adventure of the boy and Sam Skinner was fully known before breakfast. Then the excitement began all over again. The Englishmen made the lad a hero in spite of himself. It was doubtful if one man could have carried away any considerable amount of the plunder that had been heaped up near the door of the car. But each of Mr. Mackworth’s guests had a most elaborate and expensive shooting outfit, and each seemed convinced that Frank had saved his own particular property.

As Frank was a member of the party, the tactful Captain Ludington and Lord Pelton recognized that they could not express their gratitude in money. For that reason their verbal thanks were genuinely profuse.

“I don’t know why you select me for all this fine talk,” Frank said at last. “Mr. Skinner heard the man. He did more than I did—”

[161]

“All right,” exclaimed Mr. Mackworth. “We’ll have a special luncheon to-day in honor of both.”

When this event came off it turned out to be a tribute to a third person—Jake Green. Instead of a luncheon it was a banquet and a jolly one. As Frank approached his chair he found by its side—leaning against the table—a Lefever, sixteen gauge, hammerless shotgun, automatic ejector, Damascus steel barrels, English walnut stock and pistol grip.

At his plate was a card inscribed: “For value received,” and signed by all the members of the party, including Phil, whose shotgun had not been overlooked by the intruder.

“I won’t take it,” began Frank, red of face and embarrassed. “Give it to Mr. Skinner.”

“O, I’ve got mine,” exclaimed Sam pointing to several folded bills on his plate. “Better keep it. You’ll need it for grouse up on the Elk.”

Not knowing what else to do Frank sat down in confusion and thus came into possession of the gun, which is yet one of his most prized belongings. As soon as the attention of their[162] friends had been withdrawn Phil leaned over to his chum and whispered:

“I never did have any use for a sleepyhead. This is an awful warning to me.”

From Rexford to Michel—the mountain town in Canada at the southern end of Elk Valley where the Teton was to stop, and from which place Mr. Mackworth and his friends were to enter the goat and sheep country by wagon, horse and airship—was about eighty-five miles. The branch road was a mining line and when, just after four o’clock in the afternoon, the special car was attached to the daily “mixed train,” it was with no great assurance that the hunting party heard the creaking and felt the swaying of the big car on the lighter tracks.

The ride northward gradually lifted the train higher and higher. The road followed the Kootenai’s east bank and, having left the less abrupt region of Rexford behind them, the travelers soon had a panorama rivaling that of the evening before. Immediately east lay the Mission Mountains—the western boundary of the new National Glacier Park—and slowly the laboring engine drew the train on to its[163] higher pine covered flanks. The Kootenai dropped below.

Undimmed by the shadows of night; clear and distinct beneath the sapphire sky the whole world stood out until there seemed no distance. There was not the speed of the transcontinental limited and the train was a half hour in covering ten miles. This brought it to Gateway—the boundary between the United States and Canada.

“The white mark over there on the station platform,” explained Mr. Mackworth as the train came to a stop, “marks the boundary between the two countries.”

Of course the boys had to alight and straddle the line.

“This is an event to me,” exclaimed Frank, “for it’s the first time I’ve ever bee............