At that moment a man thrust his head into the manhole and called the brakeman out. He ascended quickly and his place was taken by the other, who proved to be the conductor. Dan started to speak, but was interrupted. “Let the woman talk. I’ll get the truth from her.” So I began the old, old story, and after a bit secured permission to ride as close to Sacramento as we dared. We were well outside the snowsheds when the conductor left us, and I settled down with the thought that the worst was over. As the train pulled out of a station the light was cut off abruptly and a young man in a business suit bounced into the ice chest. As he landed, I looked up and caught sight of the horrified face of the brakeman leaning over the manhole. “Who put you in here? How much did you pay that brakeman to let you ride?” he demanded fiercely. “Why, we haven’t paid anybody—we haven’t seen any brakeman. We just got in when the train slowed up back there a ways; and we took good care not to see any brakeman or let any brakeman see us,” I answered innocently. “But what are you doing here, and where are you going?” “Oh, we came up from Sacramento for a little camping trip. My husband thought he could get a little work in the mountains, but he couldn’t find any, and we spent most of our money, and then started to walk home. This old freight came crawling along, and there wasn’t anybody on the far side of the track, so just for a lark we slipped in here.” “So, you’re sure your husband didn’t pay the brakeman for the chance, are you?” “You bet I am. Do you suppose anybody would pay good money for riding in this old hole? Besides, we haven’t any money. I couldn’t see anything wrong about riding, exactly. But, of course, we didn’t want the trainmen to see us. I was afraid they might not like it, and I’m dead sure nobody but you knows we’re here.” The brakeman’s face appeared for an instant in the manhole above, then disappeared from view. “You’re not going to put us off, way out here, are you?” I asked pleadingly. “It’s awful hard to walk clear down to Sacramento this hot weather, and carry these heavy bundles. It didn’t cost the railroad company anything for us to ride here. We ain’t doing any harm.” The young man’s face softened a trifle and he launched into a long dissertation on the evils of jumping trains, the hobo menace, and kindred topics, to all of which I listened with wide eyes and bated breath. The train drew into a station and out again, while he was thus absorbed, and he made no move to put us off. I was drawing him on with deft questions and flattering attention when the brakeman’s head appeared once more. “What in blazes is all this?” he bawled. “Hey, you bums, come out of there.” Our kind instructor cast a startled look aloft. “Why, hello, Condon,” he called ingratiatingly. “You are on the job, I see. But these people don’t happen to be bums. Everything is all right. I’ll assume the responsibility, so just trot along and leave us alone.”