Anything was better than the black, noisome box car. The boy made his way into the now half illuminated ditch and collected the scattered baggage. Laden with it, the marooned travelers set forward. As the boy surmised, the white strip was a road. When they reached it, they discovered, to their relief, safely lying in the gully beyond the crossing, their two trunks.
“Better get ’em out o’ the ditch, in case o’ rain,” said the boy, and, despite his years, the well-muscled lad tackled the job. It was not an easy one, but, by rolling and sliding, the heavy parcels were soon landed on the edge of the soft roadway. The moon was now shining so brightly that the lad could make out the time. It was 8:35 P.M.
“Now,” said the lad, mopping his face, “we can go toward the river or away from it.”
“Perhaps the town is on the river,” suggested his mother, more composed. “We’ll try—there’s a light,” she added excitedly.
Far down the white strip of road was certainly a light. From its low, regular swing, the boy at once concluded that it was a lantern. He so informed his mother, who immediately became newly panic-stricken.
“It may be robbers,” she gasped, clutching her son’s arm again.
“Robbers don’t carry lanterns, mother. Let’s hope it’s the hotel runner or transfer man.”
“Or tramps,” added the woman in a frightened whisper.