LOCKED IN A FREIGHT CAR.
Fate played into Foote’s hands the next afternoon, when he had planned
to resort to his last ruse against Jim Phillips. His plan was one, he
was convinced, that would, if he could only work it out, make his
victory complete. But the problems involved in actually accomplishing
his purpose were numerous and varied. However, Jim himself, with no
intention of doing anything of the sort, paved the way for his enemy. He
had felt a little sluggish on the day after the commencement game with
Harvard, the natural result, as Dick Merriwell told him, of the
excitement of the game, and the universal coach had advised him to get
out on the water.
“Don’t row yourself,” he had advised. “That might be bad for your arm.
Lie in the back of the boat and steer, and just take it easy. There’s no
need for you to practice to-day. Be at the station in time for the
train.”
So Jim, with Woeful Watson, his classmate, known to the whole of Yale as
the sophomore pessimist, had taken a boat and gone up the river after
luncheon.
“I’ll do the rowing,” said Watson. “I’m not reckless, like most of our
crowd, Jim, and I’ll do my best to get you back safe. I’ve got a hunch
that something’s going wrong to-day, and I’ll be on the watch for it.”
It was still early when Watson had looked at his watch? and decided that
it was time to turn around and get back to the station.
“What’s the use of going back so soon?” asked Jim, who was enjoying his
rest. “We’ll only have to wait an hour or so at the station.”
“Better do that than miss the train,” said Watson relentlessly. “I’m
responsible for you to-day, Jim, and I’m not going to let anything
happen to you. You’ve got to obey my orders now, you know. I represent
Mr. Merriwell.”
So Jim laughed, and gave in, knowing the folly of arguing with Watson
when the pessimist had once made up his mind.
It was just as Jim had predicted. They found themselves at the station
an hour before train time. It was a hot, lazy summer afternoon. Few
people were around. Lessons were over for the year, and most Yale men
had scattered. A great many were in New York, waiting for the game with
Harvard. Others had gone to New London, to visit the oarsmen, and
practically the whole college would assemble there the following week,
in preparation for the boat race with Harvard. So the station was pretty
well deserted.
“I’m going uptown,” said Jim to Watson. “I don’t want to wait around
here.”
“You’re going to stay right here,” said Watson firmly. “I’ve got you
here, and here you’ll stay until I deliver you, in good order, to Mr.
Merriwell, and get his receipt for you. Then you can do anything you
blame please. If you want relaxation and something to look at, I’ll go
down to the freight station with you.”
“All right,” said Jim. “Gee! Watson, you’d make a fine coach. You’re a
regular tyrant. I’m glad I’m not under you all the time. I’ll ask for an
easier keeper the next time.”
Laughing, they wandered away from the station and down the tracks to the
freight depot, where the only activity in the neighborhood seemed to be.
But, although they did not know it, they were not the only Yale men
around. For every move they had made had been observed by Foote, who,
scarcely able to believe in his luck, had seen Jim appear, practically
alone, for he took little account of Watson. Now he saw how to work his
plan with what little chance of failure and discovery there had been
before eliminated. When they had got out of sight, he followed them
cautiously, making it impossible for them to know that they were being
tracked, and he was not far behind them when they got into the maze of
the tracks of the freight yard, where the numerous cars enabled him to
stalk them and get close to them without exciting their suspicion in any
way.
On one of the tracks a long train of empty freight cars was being made
up. The cars had brought freight to New Haven from points all over the
United States, and they were now being prepared to start on their long
journey back to their starting point. Jim and Watson wandered along this
long train. An engine was backing up to one end of it, and, at the back,
the brakemen were taking their places in the caboose. The run to New
York would mean little work for them. They had tobacco, pipes, and
cigarettes, and one of them, standing on the track, held up a pack of
cards.
“Big game to-day,” he shouted. “Got a pinochle deck here. Who’s in?”
“Pretty soft for them,” said Watson.
“Sometimes,” answered Jim, with a smile. “But if you’d ever braked on a
freight out West in the winter, in the middle of a blizzard, when
they’re crossing the divide, you wouldn’t think it was an easy job.
Grades that you’d have a fit just to look at, and brakes to set when the
temperature’s away below zero. They have it hard about as often as they
have it easy, I guess.”
“Hello!” exclaimed Watson. “What’s that?”
From somewhere near by there came the cry of a child—a baby. It seemed
to be in distress of some sort. The cry was very faint, but clear and
unmistakable. They both stopped to listen.
“Sounds like a hungry kid,” said Jim. “My young sister used to yell just
that way when she was a baby. I wasn’t much older, but I can remember
that much.”
“It sounds that way to me, too,” said Watson. “Let’s see if we hear it
again.”
In a moment the cry came to them again.
“We ought to see if we can find it,” said Jim. “I’ve heard of things
like that. Kid might be lost—or some one might have wanted to get rid of
it, and dropped it around here somewhere. Gee! It might starve to death
if no one found it. This is a pretty lonely place.”
“It’s right up this way,” said Watson, running toward the caboose of the
freight train.
“No,” cried Jim. “It’s the other way, Woeful.”
But Watson paid no attention to the pitcher. He was sure he was right,
and he darted along, looking into car after car. Jim, on the other hand,
ran toward the engine. For several seconds the cry was not repeated.
Then he heard it again, and this time it seemed to come from a car
immediately in front of him. With a quick jump, he swung himself up and
inside the car, leaving the door open behind him. Even with the open
door, it was dark in the big freight car. He could see that it had held
grain of some sort. The smell, pleasant and summery, although rather
dry, was evidence enough, without the grains of wheat that still clung
to the floor.
But there was no sign of a child. A minute’s examination served to show
that. He turned to the door, to look in the next car. But, even as he
did so, the door was slammed shut in his face, and he was locked in the
car.
He beat on the door, and shouted. Listening, he could hear nothing
outside for a moment. Then, very faintly, and as if he were hearing a
voice from a great distance, he heard what sounded like a mocking laugh.
For a moment he thought Watson had played a joke on him, though such
jokes were not at all in the line of the class pessimist. It would have
been more like Brady or Maxwell.
He beat on the door again, and shouted until he was hoarse. It was very
dry and hot inside the car when the door was shut, and his voice soon
lost its power, so that he stopped shouting. He knew that it was
useless.
Then he stood still by the door, expecting every moment that the joker,
whoever he was, would release him, and enjoy a good laugh at his
expense. He was prepared for that, and willing to submit to it. But the
minutes passed, and he was still there. There was no sign of a move to
release him. He began to grow anxious, and to fear that he would miss
the train for New York.
Suddenly he heard something that made him renew his beating on the door
and his useless shouting. There was a creaking, groaning sound that he
knew only too well, and in a moment his worst fears were confirmed. The
train was beginning to move, and he was still locked in.
Fury succeeded to his amusement at the joke he had supposed to be
intended. They were carrying it too far. Then he was almost
panic-stricken. He had heard of men, locked in freight cars, who had
traveled hundreds of miles before being discovered, with neither food
nor water, and even of some who had been dead when found. And this car,
as he knew, was being sent back West. Being empty, it would move slowly,
and no one was likely to open it until the end of the trip. He realized
suddenly the full danger of his position.
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