The hunted man saw them coming, and a desperate look settled on his face.
"I'd as lief fall into the clutches of a whole tribe of Apache Indians!" he gasped. "They're after my scalp for sure!"
He leaped to the door, and tore it open.
"Stop!" rang out the voice of Frank Merriwell. "You cannot escape, for you will be killed if you leap from the train!"
The man hesitated one moment. He saw the college lads rushing down the aisle, and then, although the train was making a speed of at least forty miles an hour, he descended the steps.
Collingwood and Merriwell came out through the open door. As they reached the platform, they saw the man clinging in the darkness at the foot of the steps. He was in a crouching position, his hands clasping the iron holds. In the gloom his face seemed fully as white as the sleeves of his shirt, which fluttered in the breeze.
"For Heaven's sake, don't jump!" cried Frank.
Collingwood tried to grasp the man by the arm. As
he did so, the mysterious man dropped from the steps, instantly disappearing in the darkness.
"He's gone!" gasped Frank, horrified.