“What in blazes is this?” he exclaimed, catching sight of the wheel.
Dan explained shortly.
“Well, yank her out of here. This car moves in about two minutes.”
Dan sprang inside and lowered the wheel to me. Tim threw our bundles to the ground. “Toot, toot,” whistled the engine. The train pulled out.
As the familiar car moved away, my heart seemed breaking. All my hopes of reaching California in a few days crashed to the ground; thoughts of the fierce railroad detectives, the waiting jail, the courtroom in the morning, surged over me. I burst into tears.
“What ya goin’ t’ do wid ’em, Joe? Run ’em in?” queried Tim.
“Naw, don’t believe I will. Come, now,” turning to us. “Beat it out o’ here and don’t let me catch yous fooling around this yard any more. Go on. Beat it quick.”
Glad enough to escape, we stumbled up the track through the darkness.
“Aw now, aw now,” said a hoarse voice at my elbow. “It’s pretty fierce luck, all right. But never you mind, lady, we’ll get you out of here all right. Just come right along to our shack and we’ll fix you up fine.”
In a few minutes we came to a tiny one-room shanty, formed from an old car, which was fitted up with a stove, bunks, a table and chairs. My kindly guide set out soap, clean towels and a fine, big basin of hot water. What luxury! I plunged my grimy hands into the grateful depths and laved my blackened, tear-stained face.