CHAPTER XXII

BOB ON THE FREIGHT TRAIN

The young photographer did not have the chance to look back at his pursuers. He had one foot on the iron step of the car, and, though the train was going at a slow rate of speed, he found it no easy task to draw himself up on the narrow platform.

“Come back!” he heard Barker cry.

He paid no attention to the order, satisfied that anything would be preferable to falling again into the hands of the villainous crowd who were pursuing him.

At last, with a mighty effort, the youth drew himself up. The ladder leading to the top of the car was close at hand and to this he clung while the train swung around a curve and out of sight of those left on the embankment.

“By jinks! but that was a narrow escape!” muttered Bob to himself as he drew a long breath.

Bob remained where he was for five minutes or more, trying to regain his breath and collect his thoughts at the same time.

“I would like to know what those men are doing out here,” he soliloquized. “Maybe they are planning to rob a house in the vicinity. They are certainly up to no good.”

The freight train made a strong rumble as it moved along, but presently Bob fancied he heard footsteps on the top of the car behind him.

He was not mistaken, for in a moment the form of a man appeared overhead. The man looked down, as if searching for something.

“One of the train-hands most likely,” thought Bob. “Maybe he saw what took place, and wants to know what it is all about.”

Bob was about to call out, when he made a discovery that filled him with surprise.

The man above was James Casco.

Casco had jumped aboard the sixth car behind the one boarded by the young photographer.

That he was bent on searching out Bob the youth felt certain, and he crouched low as the man bent down to get a better view in the semi-darkness.

“Must be the next platform,” Bob heard Casco mutter. “Although I was almost certain it was this one.”

He was about to pass on, when just then the train rolled past a farm-house, from the upper windows of which streamed a strong light.

The light fell directly upon Bob, and Casco caught a full view of him.

“So I have found you, eh?” muttered the scar-faced man, with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“What do you want here?” demanded Bob.

“You know well enough, Alden.”

“I must confess I do not.”

“You think, now you have discovered our plans, you will inform the authorities and have us all bagged.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Bob, with interest, for he did not know the men had any plans.

“I can put two and two together. You were in that neighborhood tracking us.”

“You seem to know all about it.”

“I have watched you on the sly. Do you deny that you also called on Gregory Maverick?”

“What has that got to do with it?”

“You know as well as I, Alden. But it won’t do you any good. You might as well give up trying to hunt down this crowd. It can’t be done.”

Bob was much mystified by this speech. Evidently Casco took it for granted that he knew much more than was a fact.

“Perhaps I can do more than you think, Casco,” he said, on a venture.

“You can, if I allow you to get away, maybe, but I don’t intend any such thing shall happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simply this: You imagine you can ride through to Stampton on this train, don’t you?”

“Perhaps so.”

“And when you arrive there, you will call on Maverick and the chief of police and send word all along the line to search for us. You will do nothing of the sort.”

“Who will prevent me?” questioned Bob, as calmly as he could, even though he knew what to expect by way of an answer.

“Who will prevent you? I will.”

“I don’t see how.”

“I’ll show you. Do you see this?”

As Casco spoke, he shoved the muzzle of a pistol down in the neighborhood of the young photographer’s head.

“Do you intend to kill me in cold blood?”

“I intend to make you mind me, Alden. When I give the command, you will jump from the train.”

Bob shrank back in horror. The freight train was now moving at the rate of twenty miles an hour, and a jump would be full of peril.

He looked around for some means by which to protect himself. But the narrow platform was bare, and he was without weapon of any kind.

“What if I do some firing on my own account?” Bob asked, more to gain time than anything else.

“Have you a pistol?”

Instead of replying, Bob made a leap upward, and before Casco could draw back the youth had hold of the pistol and had wrenched it from his hand.

“Stop!” cried the scar-faced man. “Give me that pistol!”

“I’ll give you one of the bullets. Stay where you are.”

With the pistol in one hand, Bob turned and ran up the iron ladder to the top of the adjoining car.

As he did this, Casco, instead of complying with Bob’s command, arose and hurried along the top plank of the freight car.

“Stop!” cried Bob, jumping across the opening and making after the rascal.

But it was too dark to see the planking clearly, and afraid of missing his footing, the young photographer was compelled to go slow.

Casco, on the other hand, had once been a brakeman, and he ran over the planking of several cars at a lively rate, and then disappeared from view.

With the pistol ready for use, Bob made his way along, until he came face to face with one of the train-hands.

“Hullo, Jack, is that you?” called out the man.

“No,” replied Bob, and added: “I am after a thief who is aboard this train. Did he just pass you?”

“Nobody passed me. You are sure he is on board?”

“He was a minute ago.”

And, as briefly as possible, Bob related what had occurred.

“He must be a desperate fellow,” said the train-hand, with a shake of his head.

“He is, and I want to catch him the worst way.”

“Humph! Well, let us take a look with the lantern. We don’t want any such fellows on this train.”

The man got his lantern from the caboose, and the two began a rapid search around each car.

“He might have dropped down on one of the platforms and swung himself into one of the empty cars,” suggested the train-hand. “Or he might have jumped off.”

“I don’t think he jumped off,” replied Bob. “Let us look into those cars just ahead.”

The train-hand went ahead, and not without difficulty swung himself into one of the empty cars.

Seeing how the thing was done, Bob started to do the same upon the car ahead.

He reached the guide upon which the door hung, and was making his way along it toward the opening when Casco’s head suddenly appeared from out of the empty car.

“Now I have you!” cried the scar-faced man. He reached out, and, catching Bob by the arm, attempted to throw the young photographer from the train.