“‘Tired of life—tired of life—tired of life,’ he kept on saying, in a curious, despairing way.
“‘Get up—get up.’
“For the train was coming on. I could hear it roaring in the distance; and I knew it would spin round the curve into sight, and then dash along the straight to where we were.
“‘Go away,’ he cried, hoarsely; ‘tired of life.’
“‘There was another fellow cut all to pieces there,’ I says, to frighten him.
“‘I know—I know,’ he said; ‘three hundred yards north of the station.’
“He must have read that in a noosepaper, and saved it up, you know.
“What to do I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t able to move him, for he clung to the rails as if he grew there, and the train was coming.
“All I could see to do was to run on and try to stop it; but that wouldn’t have done, for the engine would have been over the poor wretch before the breaks would have acted; and at last, with the roar coming on I stood there in the six foot, and I says, savage like—
“‘It’s too bad; see what a mess you’ll make.’