Alex and Gran, as the new member of the party was known from that night, sat in the cabin and compared notes regarding life in Chicago for a short time, and then Gran fell asleep on his bench and Alex went to the prow of the Rambler, now bobbing about under the motion of the train as if it had come back to its own in some wild river, and looked out on the swaying coaches ahead. The moon had arisen, and there was plenty of light at intervals, although the sky was still flecked with clouds.
Field was soon passed, and then the milder grade down to the valley of the Columbia river began. The scene was such as the boy had long hoped some day to see. The snow-capped peaks, the silver of the moonlight on the lower crags, the heavy shadows of the canyons, the long lines of steel binding together the Atlantic and the Pacific! He had heard many tales of daring robberies and bloody feud encounters in that vicinity, and looked upon every crag and canyon as the possible scene of an outlaw gathering.
Presently he saw a figure running toward him along the tops of the box cars. Now it stooped low, as if fearful of being seen, now it lifted to full height and leaped from roof to roof. When it came nearer the boy saw that it was not the conductor or the brakeman who had visited the cabin some time before.
This was a larger man than either of the trainmen he had seen. The shoulders were broad, denoting great physical strength, and the height was not less than six foot three. Another peculiarity the boy noticed. The arms were unusually long, even for so tall a man. As they swayed away from the body with the motion of the train he saw that the fingers dropped almost to the knees.
The face the boy could not see distinctly. It was covered with a great beard and shaded by the brim of a cowboy hat. Directly another figure, carrying a lantern, appeared on the top of the train. Alex heard a shout, and then a pistol shot. The tall man in advance halted, limped over to the side of the car, swung down a ladder and disappeared from sight.
The second figure came running up to the car attached to the one on which the Rambler lay and shouted across to the boy:
“Where did he go?”
There was much noise and the wind was blowing against his voice, so Alex could not make the other understand that the fugitive had gone down the side ladder except by pointing. The whole scene had seemed so unreal to the boy that he half expected to see the tall man bob up in the moonlight from some dark canyon and continue his frantic flight over the swaying coaches.
“Guess I got him!” shouted the other, lowering his lantern. “Here’s blood on the roof. There were two of them, and both got away.”
Alex remembered the conductor’s story of the men who had swung on at the pass, and was not altogether displeased at the thought that they had been chased off the train. In the tall figure which had swayed toward him for a time and then almost dropped, bleeding, from the car top, he thought he had recognized the figure which had pursued him around the angle of rock where the pictures had been taken. Feeling safer, he went to sleep, and when he awoke the car was being detached from the train at Donald.