I followed his direction.
But I must have gone farther than the others, for both he and White were behind the tank when I came up. He had lighted a little fire of twigs and leaves and in this we burned the “spook caps.” I did not see the “loot sack” and I asked him about the Mexican money.
“No luck, my son,” he said. “White had the wrong tip, but I am not a man to disappoint a lad. Here’s twenty dollars for you. Meet the circus at Marysville.”
He pointed out the direction through the fields.
I gave him back the automatic pistol and the railroad clothes and prepared to set out on my journey. It was not above half a dozen miles, he said, and I could not miss the way. He would show me. He climbed up on the crossbars of the water tank and pointed out the direction, the distant hilltop where I would find a turn of the road.
I was about to set out when he stopped me.
“Wait a moment,” he said, “and I will put you clear of the bloodhounds.”
He stooped and in the darkness carefully passed his hand over the soles of my shoes.
I went up the railroad track until I was clear of the wood, climbed the hill, and got down into the road. I had become an outlaw, a member of the most daring gang of train robbers in all the annals of that high-handed crime.