“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?”