"I think so. What are they?"
"Bumpers. Drawheads. The coupling between the cars. Here's three beats riding drawheads and they say it's our only show. If you think you can, we will try it."
Our hero answered that he had no experience in the business, but was willing to make the attempt.
"It's death, to fall," said Tommy; and then the boy cogitated a moment, and whispered:
"It won't do. You couldn't do it. Not in your stocking feet anyway. We'll have to let this train go."
At this time the whistle sounded "off brakes," and the engine wheels began to revolve. As the train got under headway, the three figures stealthily stole forth, and plunging between the cars, the long screeching, grinding chain of wheels, appear to roll over them and grind them out of existence.
Not so, however. As the train sped away, each of the three was dangling on that narrow, precarious, bumping, jerking little platform, made by the links and connecting drawheads of the cars. A most dangerous place truly, and many a tramp has left them for Eternity. A jolt! The foot slips! A yell! And all is over. The tramp is finished.
But Ben discovered before he reached New Orleans that the bumpers were not the most dangerous place about a train on which men attempted to steal rides. When no other opportunity offers, as in the case of a passenger train sometimes, the trucks beneath the cars are improved, where with a constant roar in their ears, a storm of dust and gravel in their faces, and a cramped position—like a contortionist in his box among the bottles—these knights of vagabondage cling on like squirrels.
Sometimes there is an extra heavy jolt, or a larger stone than usual strikes them on the head. In such cases the coroner's jury discover that the man was a tramp and came to his death by being run over by the cars. What would we do without coroner's juries?
Tommy watched the retreating train for some time, and then said to Ben: