I watch carefully.  I see a lantern come forward to the engine, and I do not see it go back from the engine.  It must therefore be still on the engine, and it is a fair assumption that attached to the handle of that lantern is a shack.  That shack was lazy, or else he would have put out his lantern instead of trying to shield it as he came forward.  The train pulls out.  The first blind is empty, and I gain it.  As before the train slackens, the shack from the engine boards the blind from one side, and I go off the other side and run forward.

As I wait in the darkness I am conscious of a big thrill of pride.  The overland has stopped twice for me—­for me, a poor hobo on the bum.  I alone have twice stopped the overland with its many passengers and coaches, its government mail, and its two thousand steam horses straining in the engine.  And I weigh only one hundred and sixty pounds, and I haven’t a five-cent piece in my pocket!

Again I see the lantern come forward to the engine.  But this time it comes conspicuously.  A bit too conspicuously to suit me, and I wonder what is up.  At any rate I have something else to be afraid of than the shack on the engine.  The train pulls by.  Just in time, before I make my spring, I see the dark form of a shack, without a lantern, on the first blind.  I let it go by, and prepare to board the second blind.  But the shack on the first blind has jumped off and is at my heels.  Also, I have a fleeting glimpse of the lantern of the shack who rode out the engine.  He has jumped off, and now both shacks are on the ground on the same side with me.  The next moment the second blind comes by and I am aboard it.  But I do not linger.  I have figured out my countermove.  As I dash across the platform I hear the impact of the shack’s feet against the steps as he boards.  I jump off the other side and run forward with the train.  My plan is to run forward and get on the first blind.  It is nip and tuck, for the train is gathering speed.  Also, the shack is behind me and running after me.  I guess I am the better sprinter, for I make the first blind.  I stand on the steps and watch my pursuer.  He is only about ten feet back and running hard; but now the train has approximated his own speed, and, relative to me, he is standing still.  I encourage him, hold out my hand to him; but he explodes in a mighty oath, gives up and makes the train several cars back.

The train is speeding along, and I am still chuckling to myself, when, without warning, a spray of water strikes me.  The fireman is playing the hose on me from the engine.  I step forward from the car-platform to the rear of the tender, where I am sheltered under the overhang.  The water flies harmlessly over my head.  My fingers itch to climb up on the tender and lam that fireman with a chunk of coal; but I know if I do that, I’ll be massacred by him and the engineer, and I refrain.