Preparing to make a run for it, Ralph suddenly halted.
A grimed repair man, tapping, the wheels of the coaches, just then jerked back his hammer with a vivid:
"Hi, you!"
Ralph discerned that the man was not addressing him, for his eyes were staringly fixed under the trucks.
"Let me out!" sounded a muffled voice.
Ralph was interested, as there struggled from the cindered roadbed an erratic form. It was that of a boy about his own age. He judged this from the dress and figure, although one was tattered, and the other strained, crippled and bent. The face was a criss-cross streak of dust, oil and cinders.
"A stowaway!" yelled the repair man, excitedly waving his hammer. "Schmitt! Schmitt! this way!"
The depot officer came running around the end of the train at the call. Ralph had eyes only for the forlorn figure that had so suddenly come into action in the light of day.
He could read the lad's story readily. The last run of No. 6 was of ten miles. There was no doubt but that for this distance, if not for a greater one, the stowaway had been a "dead-
