had neglected to perform in the case of his father. Shortly afterwards, as I have said, Joseph Bunker went North. A week ago I wandered into this neighborhood, partly in search of work and partly to pay a visit to my old friend. I had his address, for we had always been in communication with each other. In nearly all of his letters of late, he referred to the fact that his health was failing and that he wished I could make it convenient to be present at his death. My visit to his house found him suffering from the effects of a recent shock of apoplexy. He told me he didn’t think he had long to live. He spoke in truth. He died that very night, a few minutes after midnight. His last words were: ‘Don’t forget our vow, old friend.’ I hadn’t forgotten, but I put off doing the unwelcome work until I was certain my old friend was dead. I waited five hours, then I fulfilled my vow. I was afraid to be found with the dead body. People would not believe my story, I feared. So I struck off and got away as far from the place as possible; guilty of no crime, yet fearing punishment at the hands of those who would perhaps not believe my story.” A Freight Car Adventure. The freight cars of the B. & R. Railroad were being systematically robbed. During one month in 1891, the railroad company lost over $5,000 in this way. It was impossible to catch the thieves. On several occasions the conductor, engineer and brakeman had been shot at, and narrowly escaped death. The thieves used to board the train either before it left the freight yard, or during one of its numerous stops along the road, and hold the train until they had secured what they wanted, thrown it off, usually in a lonely spot far from dwellings, and made their escape. On numerous occasions a posse of police were secreted on the trains, but these nights (the robberies occurred always at night) the thieves failed to put in an appearance, evidently having learned that pains had been taken to give them a warm reception. I suspected something more than the railroad officials seemed to suspect, and when I was told to do my best to bring the thieves to justice, I laid my plans accordingly. I sought leave from the conductor to ride on his train in disguise. “I can’t allow you to do so without permission from headquarters,” declared the conductor. “But I want to try to capture the thieves who have been robbing this company’s trains and shooting at you, and I haven’t time to get the necessary permission,” I protested. The conductor still refused to let me ride. “I must and shall ride on your train to-night,” I said. “To-morrow night I shall be a good many miles away and I must carry out my orders to-night.” “I have my orders, too, to carry out,” declared the conductor. “I shall ride, nevertheless,” was my parting shot. I did not ride. I had no intention of doing so. There was nothing taken from that train that night.