HOT ON THE TRAIL
Here seemed to be a clear case of murder. And murder, too, of the most brutal kind.
What kind of men could they be who would not only kill a fellow creature but laugh at his dying struggles? It seemed almost unbelievable.
Sammy racked his memory to recall anything he might have read or heard that would fit this case. He did very little reading of the newspapers, and his parents were careful to keep from him any shocking details of crime. Yet sometimes he would overhear his father talking with the neighbors about some dreadful thing with which the country was ringing.
Yet try as Sammy would, he could not recall anything that seemed to apply to the especial cold-blooded murder which these men were evidently discussing.
Sammy glanced at his chums to see if they were listening. But they were not, and for this he was glad. He wanted to unravel this mystery all by himself if possible and only then reveal the matter proudly to the others.
He strained his ears now as he never had before. He did not want to miss a single detail.
"Yes," one of the men was saying, "he was badly cut up but his squealing did no good."
Sammy shuddered. In imagination he could hear the groans and shrieks of the victim.
He leaned forward in his seat, for the roar and rush of the train made it hard to catch the words especially as the speakers' faces were turned away from him.