He looked about him, but could see no village.
Prescott was a stopping place for the cars, but there was no settlement
of any account there, as he afterward found.
He had supposed he would find a stage in waiting to convey him to
Jackson, but it was clear that the business was not large enough to
warrant such a conveyance.
Looking about him, Frank saw a farm wagon, the driver of which had
evidently come to receive some freight which had come by rail.
Approaching the driver, who seemed to be--though roughly dressed--an
intelligent man, Frank inquired:
"How far is Jackson from here, sir?"
"Five miles," was the answer.
"Is there any stage running there from this depot?"
"Oh, no! If there were, it wouldn't average two passengers a day."
"Then I suppose I must walk," said Frank, looking rather doubtfully at
the two heavy valises which constituted his baggage.
"Then you are going to Jackson?"
"Yes, sir."
"I come from Jackson myself, and in fifteen minutes shall start on my
way back. You may ride and welcome."
"Thank you, sir!" said our hero, quite relieved. "I hope you will allow
me to pay you as much as I should have to pay in a stage.
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