They rounded up about ten “bos” out of the yards and took us to a room in the depot where they held us for about an hour till one of the guards came from the jail. He did not see the escaped men in the crowd so we were turned loose. The railroad “bull” ordered us to walk out of town. We walked out a ways and then sneaked back and caught a freight. I think we got off easy. I had a buddy once who was held a week until the police could get a picture. He was caught by the railroad “bull” and turned over to the “town clown.” They are always sorry if they can’t get something on a “bo” they hold. Youths in their first adventures on the road accept with zest the conflict with the private police. A student who made a practice of “working the harvest” each summer gives the following statement: 58. My first experience with a bull was at Marshalltown, Iowa. I had been selling books up near Mason City, Iowa, and after three weeks of that loathsome occupation, I threw my prospectus into the ditch and started for home. Late one night I caught an express train on the Northwestern from Ames, Iowa, bound for Chicago, and rode from there to Marshalltown; unfortunately the train pulled into the station very slowly and the long string of lights on the station platform shed a great deal of light on the train. I started to get off when a rough voice cursing loudly told me to get off on that side. He took me by the shoulder and asked me what in hell I was doing riding on that train. “Don’t you know,” he said, “what we do with fellows who ride the front ends of these trains?” He gave me a kick and told me to get out of the yards. It was my first encounter with the “bulls” and I have since learned that “bull” tactics are very much the same. Another time I crawled off the train into the waiting arms of a Rock Island “bull” in Council Bluffs, Iowa. He showed me his star and searched me over carefully, feeling every lump in my clothing. During the search he said, “Will you give me all I find on you?” The question rather startled me but I quickly replied, “Yes.” Finding nothing, he seemed disappointed and said, “I can’t understand why you haven’t more money on you! What are you, anyway?” I told him I was a college student looking for work. “The hell you are!” he sneered, “you’re a Weary Willie, now get out of here, quick.” At Grand Island some fifty of us tried to ride a merchandise freight out of the yards, when an energetic “bull” pulled himself out of a car and waved a revolver wildly warning all not to get on. It was a long freight and the men strung themselves up and down the track the full length of it. In spite of his efforts, several got aboard. My companion and I were quite close to him and made no effort to get on.