“I think he must have come from the freight that just passed us,” said Rod, “and I shouldn’t wonder,” he added, suddenly recalling the strange movements of the figure he had seen appear for an instant at the caboose door, “if he was kicked off.” Then he described the scene of which he had caught a glimpse as the freight train passed him.
“I’d like to meet the man who’d dare do such a thing,” exclaimed the track-walker. “If I wouldn’t kick him! He’d dance to a lively tune if any of us railroad chaps got hold of him, I can tell you. It must have been an accident, though; for nobody would hurt Smiler. Now I don’t know exactly what to do. Smiler can’t be left here, and I’m afraid he isn’t able to walk very far. If I had time I’d carry him back to the freight. She’s side-tracked only a quarter of a mile from here, waiting for Number 8 to pass. I’m due at Euston inside of an hour, and I don’t dare waste any more time.”
“I’ll take him if you say so,” answered Rod, who had been greatly interested in the dog’s history. “I believe I can carry him that far.”
“All right,” replied the track-walker. “I wish you would. You’ll have to move lively though; for if Number 8 is on time, as she generally is, you haven’t a moment to lose.”
“I’ll do my best,” said the boy, and a moment later he was hurrying down the track with his M. I. P. bag strapped to his shoulders, and with the dog so strangely committed to his care, clasped tightly in his arms. At the same time the track-walker, with his swinging lantern, was making equally good speed in the opposite direction. As Rod rounded a curve, and sighted the lights of the waiting freight train, he heard the warning whistle of Number 8 behind him, and redoubled his exertions. He did not stop even as the fast express whirled past him, though he was nearly blinded by the eddying cloud of dust and cinders that trailed behind it. But, if Number 8 was on time, so was he. Though Smiler had grown heavy as lead in his aching arms, and though his breath was coming in panting gasps, he managed to climb on the rear platform of the caboose, just as the freight was pulling out. How glad he was at that moment of the three weeks training he had just gone through with. It had won him something, even if his name was not to be engraved on the railroad cup of the Steel Wheel Club.
As the boy stood in the rear doorway of the caboose, gazing doubtfully into its interior, a young fellow who looked like a tramp, and who had been lying on one of the cushioned lockers, or benches, that ran along the sides of the car, sprang to his feet with a startled exclamation. At the same moment Smiler drew back his upper lip so as to display a glistening row of teeth, and, uttering a deep growl, tried to escape from Rod’s arms.
“What are you doing in this car! and what do you mean by bringing that dog in here?” cried the fellow angrily, at the same time advancing with a threatening gesture. “Come, clear out of here or I’ll put you out,” he added. The better to defend himself, if he should be attacked, the boy dropped the dog; and, with another fierce growl, forgetful of his hurts, Smiler flew at the stranger’s throat.
CHAPTER VII.
ROD, SMILER, AND THE TRAMP.