“It seemed to be a man running down the hill. After he collided with you he just brushed me. Look! there he is now!”
Wes was pointing toward the station, where the train, for some reason delayed, was just beginning to move out. What Wes saw through the falling snow was the figure of a tall man dash into the circle of the station’s dim light and leap on the platform of the last car, just passing away. It all occurred in an instant and Dick looked too late to see the hurrying figure.
“Did you recognize him, Wes?”
“No, of course not. The snow blurs everything at such a distance.”
“Worse luck! I wish he’d missed that train. I’d go right back and interview him—yes I would! I think I’m hurt, Wes; that fellow’s elbow or shoulder struck me over the eye.”
“Just a moment and I will light one of those fusees. It is fortunate I bought them from that ragged Italian—nothing else would hold an instant in this gale.”
After some fumbling in pockets with gloved hands the box of vesuvians was found. Wesley struck one and by its sputtering light examined as best he could Dick’s eye. There was only a slight abrasion, apparently, but as Dick complained of a smarting in the eyeball a handkerchief was tied over the injured orb.
“Now how are we ever to find our traps? They must have gone in every direction. Oh, I’d just like to——” Dick shook his fist at the darkness in the direction of the departed train and then began to tramp around in the snow to find his things. First, Wesley put his foot into Dick’s hat which had rolled some distance off; then Dick kicked his bundle of canes and umbrellas and, lastly, he tumbled flat over his large hand satchel. He felt around it and then broke out again:
“I am a stupid. I never strapped this confounded bag in the car and the lock has slipped. The thing is perfectly empty, Wes!”