The passenger-train, shrinking in size by swift perceptible degrees as it lost itself in the darkness, soon was gone. The white lantern swung again, and the switch-engine resumed its monotonous labors, confined to the tedious limits of that yard, never allowed to go out into the larger world. Gradually it worked the train it was patiently piecing together over to the side of the yard where Archie and Curly waited. Then, at last, watching their chance, they slipped out, found an open car, sprang into it, slunk out of possible sight of conductor or switchman, and were happy. The car was bumped and buffeted up and down the yard for an hour; but Archie and Curly within were laughing at having thus eluded the officers. They sat against the wall of the car, their knees to their chins, talking under cover of the noise the cars made. After a while the engine whistled and the train moved. When they awoke, the car was standing still and a gray light came through the cracks of the door. "I wonder where we are," said Archie, rubbing his eyes. Curly got up, stretched, crept to the middle of the car and looked out. Presently Archie heard him say: "By God!" He joined him. And there were the lumber piles. It was morning, the city was awake, the grinding of its weary mills had begun. They were just where they had been the night before. "Marooned!" said Curly, and he laughed. They decided, or Curly decided, that they must wait. Some of those restless switch-engines would make up another train before long, and in it they might leave the town, in which there was now no place of safety for them. The morning was cold; the chill of the damp atmosphere stiffened them. Just outside, in the lumber-yard, several men were working, and the fugitives must not be seen by them, for they would be as hostile as the whole world had suddenly become. They waited, but the men did not leave. Their task seemed to be as endless as that of the switch-engine. For a long while the railroad yards were strangely still. Now and then Curly crept to the door and peeped out; the lumber-shovers were not twenty feet away. The door on the opposite side of the car was locked. Finally, they grew restless; they decided to go out anyhow. "Hell!" said Archie. "There’s nothing to it. Let’s mope." Something of Archie’s recklessness and disregard of consequences affected Curly. "Well, all right," he said; "come on." They went to the door of the car. And there, looking full in their faces, was a switchman with a red, rough face and a stubble of reddish beard. The switchman drew back with a curse to express his astonishment, his surprise, the sudden fright that confused and angered him. "Come out o’ that, you hobos," he called, stepping back. The men in the lumber-yard heard his sudden cry, stopped and looked up. The switchman cursed and called again. Curly and Archie shrank into the darkness of the car. Archie had drawn his revolver.