“How was that for a stiff bluff?” he chuckled. “Your uncle Ezra is right there with the goods, ain’t he, what? See any bums? No, of course not. The only bums I ever see are those bulls that hang around the station. And now that the fly cops have flitted, tell us the sad story of your young lives.” So I took up the familiar tale and the lad listened with bated breath and sparkling eyes while I led him step by step across the country. On conclusion he told me of himself. He was a student in a technical school, utilising his vacation to gain practical experience in his specialty of electricity and earn money for the coming term. As I lay prone on the floor, the intense pain of my bruised spine eased a trifle, and lulled by the hum of the generators, I fell asleep. Night had fallen when I awoke and both men were gone. I found them chatting busily, while Dan repacked our bundles for the journey and Frank broiled a large steak over the coals. “Fill up, sweet friends, fill up,” quoth he, carving a huge slab of meat. “Ways are long, the steak is fleeting, and the jail is not your goal. At least, we hope that it doesn’t prove to be. So eat and be merry, for to-morrow you may be in Granger.” Nothing loath, we fell to with great gusto, and while we ate, discussed the best method of getting out of town. We decided to take a passenger to the first stop, as at Laramie. As we started to the train, our host seized his hat and made ready to accompany us. “I’ll just let the buzzers look after themselves while I give you the benefit of my powerful protection up town. Those bulls won’t be so liable to run you in because you’re walking the streets without a thousand dollars in your pockets if I am by to testify to your noble characters. Then I know most of the boys who run out of here and I may be able to fix it so the freight crew will pick you up without any trouble.” Thus we bought our tickets and said good-bye to our young friend while the officers glowered from a distance. Once more we got out at a barren flag station, but we hadn’t long to wait. As the freight stopped, a brakeman leaped down and came directly to us. “All right, folks, we’ll give you a lift and pass you over the next division if we can. Get in that boxcar over there.” In we crawled and rode in comfort the night through. Early next morning, as the train sped through a desolate wilderness, another brakeman climbed into the car. “How do you do?” he began. “We heard about you from the boys back there, and we’ll see you as close to Ogden as we can. But you’ll have to leave this car, as it’ll be dropped next stop, and the only place for you is in an empty fruit car way up near the head of the train. You’ll have to go over the top while she’s spinning. Do you think you can make it?” looking at me anxiously. “Sure,” I answered boldly, my tone implying that I had walked the tops of moving freights since the age of three.