On the edge of the Great Salt Lake the freight stopped again and another brakeman leaped into the car. He gaped in amazement at sight of me, then turned to Dan, “You’ll have to come through, old sport. This kind of baggage is worth a five spot. Come across now, or you’ll have to swim the lake.” “Here, Dan,” I broke in sharply, as he hesitated. “Don’t you give those petty grafters another penny. Let’s get out.” The trainman turned on us threateningly, but one good look sufficed, so we were left undisturbed beside the track. We had heard more than once of trainmen who not only took money from hoboes, but also relieved them of Ingersoll, knife, or any little trinket they happened to have about them, but this was our first experience with the breed. With our bundles for pillows we slept through the night, and awakened at dawn when another freight stopped for a last drink before crossing the lake. We piled into a gondola just as the train gathered speed and felt that we would at least cross the lake in safety. We had not gone a mile when a trainman leaped in beside us. “What are you riding on, friends?” he inquired. “A union card,” said Dan. “And what else?” “Not another blamed thing,” Dan answered determinedly. “Well, that don’t listen very good to me,” the fellow growled. “Where did you come from and where are you going?” While we gave him a sketch of our experiences and reasons for riding freights, he drew a stub of a pencil from his pocket and began scrawling on the back of a time table. “Loan me your knife a minute, old man,” he said to Dan. Dan passed over the knife, a very fine one that I had given him the first Christmas after our marriage, and the brakeman sharpened his pencil. “Well, so long,” said he, turning on his heel, and starting to slip Dan’s knife into his pocket. I seized his arm like a flash and wrested the knife from his hand before he could recover from the unexpected assault. “No, you don’t. Oh, no you don’t,” I hissed furiously. “That’s my knife and I propose to keep it.” “Why, you little hell-cat, you.” He burst into a laugh. “I didn’t mean to steal your knife. Gee, she’s some scrapper,” turning to Dan. “Wouldn’t mind having a pal like that myself.” With another laugh he made his way to the rear of the train. A half hour had passed when we were amazed to see him coming over the top with a coffee pot in one hand and a pan in the other. “Thought maybe you might be hungry,” he said with an embarrassed laugh, as he set the pan of boiled meat and doughnuts on the bottom of the car. As he bolted toward the head of the train, we attacked the food with ravenous appetites. We were so engaged when a man leaped from the boxcar behind, landing in the gondola with a clatter. I looked up into the amazed face of the conductor. “Good Lord!” he ejaculated. “Well, good Lord, so this is what old Tight-wad was up to. What have you done to him anyhow? Hypnotised him?” “What are you talking about?” asked Dan.