Once, as darkness was closing down, I heard a brakeman coming, and quickly crawled into the back end of the car, where it was very dark.
Slabs had been nailed across the open door within two feet of the top to prevent the coke from rolling out.
The brakeman climbed upon these slabs, and taking up a piece of coke, threw it into the dark end of the car, where I was hiding, with considerable force.
Though he could not see me, his aim was true, and the coke struck me a glancing blow upon the cheek, cutting a long gash, and starting the blood.
The pain was intense, and it was all I could do to keep from crying out, but the brakeman, unconscious of my hurt, hurled a piece of coke into the other end of the car, and upon hearing no one, sprang from the car door, and soon his footsteps could be heard going to some other part of the train.
Late that night we reached Alamogordo.
While here I wrote home to my folks.
Alamogordo is 4,000 feet above the sea level, and has one of the finest natural parks in the United States.
The town is also noted for the luscious fruit raised by the Mexican ranchers nearby.
My night's lodging was on a large pile of telegraph poles piled near the railroad.