"We're all going to Hell anyway! What's the odds so long's you're happy!"
After awhile the three tramps sat down in a corner of the car, and one of them producing a ragged pack of cards, (which same, he stated, with pardonable pride, had been in every state of the Union, and on nearly all the railroads) they were soon engaged in the mysteries of that ancient game, "cut-throat old-sledge," the stakes being a pull at the bottle.
Ben felt drowsy, and having had but little sleep the previous night, stretched himself at full length on the car floor and was soon lost in a sound slumber. The travellers having securely fastened the end gate shut with a nail (to prevent other tramps from imposing their presence among them, and also to repel the curiosity of train employees,) kept remarkably quiet whenever the train stopped, which it frequently did, and so rode along in safety.
CHAPTER VIII.
A BLOCK IN THE WAY.
Ben was awakened from a sound sleep of many hours, by a rough thrust in the side.
"What's the matter, Hough?" he exclaimed, his scattered thoughts not having yet all returned from dreamland.
"I'll 'how' you, you scoundrel! Get out of this!" and another vigorous poke in the ribs with a barrel stave followed.
This last attack thoroughly aroused our friend, who awoke to find the car deserted by all save himself, while at the end gate appeared the face of a burly brakeman who was thus unceremoniously stirring him up with a stave.
"What is the matter?" asked Ben.