As he pointed to the east, they could make out the glowing rim of the full moon just silvering the waxen tops of the encircling palmettos. Composing herself somewhat, the frightened woman allowed the boy to help her through the loose sand to the makeshift depot.
Along the front of it ran a rude, tramp-hacked bench. On this, the two seated themselves. The depot-car was doorless. As the boy observed this, he laughed again.
“Why, this isn’t bad, mother. We can sleep in here—”
“In there?” protested his mother. “There are insects there, I know. I’m not going to move from this bench till daylight. Then we’ll take the first train back to the north.”
“It may be our mistake, mother. Maybe Valkaria isn’t a town at all. I reckon it isn’t, judgin’ by the depot.”
“Why should they call an old car ‘Valkaria?’” exclaimed the woman. “Cars don’t have names. They have numbers.”
“I give it up,” answered the boy, with some cheerfulness. “But I don’t see that it’s so bad. The weather is fine. I’ll bet it’s dandy around here in the daytime. That moon’s makin’ things kind o’ great, now.”
“What’s that?” exclaimed the woman, suddenly catching her son by the arm and pointing in the direction in which the train disappeared. “There! Across the railroad!”
The boy had seen it too. A broad, ribbon-like band of chalky-white extended from the black shadow of the palmettos on the left, crossed the track, and lost itself in the blackness beyond. As the boy looked he caught sight of similar thin strips along the track.
“It’s sand, mother. Looks like a ghost, but it’s white Florida sand. And I’ll bet it’s a road. Let’s try it. If it’s a road, it goes somewhere.”