In the meantime, the object of their thoughts was hurrying as rapidly as
he could over the rough roadbed.
The crisp, bracing air seemed a stimulant to his lungs which had never
breathed any but the contaminated air of New York, and he gloried in the
fact that he was at last in a land where success did not depend on
influence and riches, but where a man "made good" or failed, according
to whether he was made of the right stuff or not.
For a time, his mind dwelt upon the insinuations Higgins and the others
had made against Ranchman Ford, but the same power that had urged him
to seek a job of this man whispered to him that he had nothing to fear.
Dismissing all forebodings, therefore, Bob began to wonder if there
could be any connection between Ford, the man with the scar and his
father. The subject suggested so many possibilities and was, altogether,
so vague, that, healthy-minded boy as he was, he decided not to ponder
over it longer.
"There's no use building air castles," he told himself.
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