"I give you my honest word, I haven't got a cent, fellows."
"Then don't get on this train. Do, you'll get kicked off," said the men.
I left them and went hurrying through the darkness down the long line of cars.
I found a car half full of cross-ties.
The door had not been sealed, and crawling into the back end of the car I pulled off my coat—for the night was very hot—and folding it up into a nice pillow, I lay down to sleep.
I never knew when the train started, but about forty miles down the road the brakemen found me, and shining their lanterns within a foot of my face, woke me up.
Instead of "kicking" me off, as threatened, they talked fairly sociable.
"We'll not put you down in this storm, here on the prairie, for there's nothing here but a side-track, but the next stop is Longview, and you'll have to get off," they said.
I went to the door and looked out. The rain was coming down in great sheets, and the heavens were lit up by an almost constant glare of lightning. It was the worst storm I had ever seen.