"Have a care, boy—I won't stand everything!" snarled Arnold
Baxter, his eyes gleaning like those of an angry cat.
"I am not afraid of you, Arnold Baxter. I shall hand you over to the police at our next stopping place!"
"Will you!" hissed the man, and leaped at Dick, bearing him down to the car floor. At once his hand sought the lad's throat.
"I've a good mind to choke the life out of you," he went on. "I hate you all—everyone who bears the name of Rover!"
"Le—let up!" gasped Dick, growing purple in the face, while his eyes bulged from their sockets.
"I'll pitch you off!" was Arnold Baxter's answer, and suddenly he lifted Dick up in his strong arms and stepped to the open doorway. They were passing over a trestle spanning a wide gully, at the bottom of which were bushes, rocks, and a tiny mountain stream.
"Don't!" cried Dick, and snatched at the handle of the car door. He had just clutched it, when Arnold Baxter launched forth his body into space.
The next instant, and while Baxter stood by the edge of the door, the long train swung around a sharp curve. There was a quick jerk, and with a yell of fright which sounded in Dick's ears for days afterward, Arnold Baxter slipped through the doorway and went tumbling head foremost down into the gully!
Dick shut his eyes at the sight and clung fast mechanically.
Then, as soon as he could recover, he swung himself into the car.
He could not stand, and sank like a lump of lead to the car floor
unconscious.
When he recovered, several train hands surrounded him, and his face was wet from the water they had poured over him. It was fully an hour before he could tell his story, and then a hand-car was sent back to the spot where Arnold Baxter had had his terrible fall.