"It was that," faintly responded Ben.
"I remember you," continued the man; "you are the tramp that whipped Joe Brown at Harrisburg yesterday. I don't approve of fighting, but I'm glad you gave him a beating. He's the biggest bully on the road, and takes a delight in thumping men smaller than himself. Where are you bound for? St. Louis, hey. And you aint got no money? No? Well there are a great many travelling in your fix, nowadays, and our orders are very strict about putting them off the trains. But I'll break rules this time, and won't know that you're here."
Ben looked his gratitude, and pressed the man's hand.
"You can stay safely here now," he continued; "for the road's pretty level for some miles yet. When we are to go up the mountains, I'll come back here, and show you another car that's filled with barrels, and you can get in at the end window and go safe to Alatoona."
"God bless you!" said Ben fervently. "I feel very weak."
"Yes, I see you do," and a look of sympathy came over the great, rough, grimy face of the brakeman, and looked well there, although the face was badly mottled with coal dust and tobacco-juice. "I see you do, partner. And it's agin rules bad, and they are strict, but when this crew changes at Alatoona, I'll give you a good word with the man that takes my place, and you may be able to make it to Pittsburg. There'll be down brakes in a minute, for a crossing, and I must go. So long." And his burly figure crawled through the window, and out on the roof of the car.
Ben had closed his eyes a moment, when they again opened to see the face of the brakeman, upside down at the end gate, he being extended flat on the roof of the car.
"I say, partner, that was pretty close, wasn't it?"
Ben nodded.
"Was yer prepared, partner?"