Hurrying over, we climbed in just as the train pulled out. As I peered through the slats in the front of the car, I saw a hobo make a running leap into the gondola immediately in front of us. A soft footfall sounded on the roof of our car and the detective leaped down beside the hobo, who scrambled madly up the end of the boxcar ahead. The men reached the roof almost together and for a moment seemed etched against the sky. The officer made a mighty swing with his billy at the tramp’s head. There was a crack like a revolver shot, and the hobo pitched from the top of the rapidly moving car and rolled head over heels down the twenty foot embankment. Sickened, I clung to the bars while the train rushed on. The floor of the car was covered with filth, so that sitting or reclining was out of the question. To add to our discomfort a storm blew up and the cold wind and rain beat between the slats and chilled us to the bone. As we slowed at a siding a low, mournful sound came to our ears, and we found ourselves beside a great cattle train. The poor animals moaned and bellowed in the sleety blast. Some were down, and I could easily picture their experiences of long hours without food and water, exposure to the broiling heat of the noonday sun in the crowded cars, followed by the night’s cold wind and rain. We were completely exhausted when morning came, and crawled weakly out when a brakeman ordered us off the train. Throwing ourselves in the shade of boxcars that stood on a lonely siding, we were instantly asleep. The sound of voices wakened me and, sitting up, I saw a dozen hoboes scattered about. Some were east and some west-bound, but all agreed that this particular division was the deuce to cross. A freight rolled in and some boarded her, but did not linger long. With shouts and curses, the train crew plied pick handles and chains, and every man was beaten off. Some two hours later another freight hove in sight and we concealed ourselves in the high brush beside the track. The crew united to drive the crowd of hoboes down the line, and as the chase swept past, we hastened to examine the unguarded cars. In the middle of the train stood three cattle cars loaded with ninety-pound steel rails. These were piled in sloping tiers on each side, leaving a runway down the centre of the car. “Here’s a good place, Dan. We’ll lie down in there.” “Good heavens, girl,” he cried aghast. “If those heavy rails should shift in swinging around these mountain curves, there wouldn’t be enough of us left to hold a funeral over.” “I’m not particular about my funeral, if it should come to that. I’d rather trust the rails than the detectives. Come on, I’m going in.” Opening the end door, I piled in and lay down in the little runway. On either side the sloping heaps of rails rose high above my head. Dan closed the door and lay down also.