"Perhaps we'll see you again," said Nat. "Have you ever been out west?"
"In my younger days," replied the miner. "I had a friend once named
Travers—um—no—that wasn't exactly his name either. Travis—
Trellis—Tennis—"
"Tevis!" exclaimed Jack, struck by a sudden inspiration.
"That's it!" cried Mr. Post. "I knew it was something that sounded like a grape vine. He and I used—"
But what Mr. Tevis, or Trellis, used to do was not told then, for a second later there sounded a grinding crash and every one in the car was thrown from his seat while above the sound of hissing steam arose the shrill cries of several women.
"Wreck!" yelled Mr. Post, struggling to his feet and starting up the aisle of the car, which was tilted at a steep angle. "We've hit something!"
By this time, most of the other passengers, who had been thrown here and there, had extricated themselves from more or less undignified positions. There were anxious inquiries on every side, and a number of women fainted. For a while there was a lot of excitement, one lady going into hysterics at the sight of the bloody hand of a man, who was cut by a broken window.
Mr. Post had hurried from the car. He came back in a little while, just as the boys, who were feeling themselves to discover if any bones were broken, had made up their minds to follow him and learn what the trouble was.
"What is it?" half a dozen asked the miner.
"We side-swiped a freight car," was the answer.