But he doesn’t try to slug me, and that problem is settled.  Instead, he starts to lead me back toward the train, and another possible problem arises.  I see the lanterns of the conductor and the other shack.  We are approaching them.  Not for nothing have I made the acquaintance of the New York police.  Not for nothing, in box-cars, by water-tanks, and in prison-cells, have I listened to bloody tales of man-handling.  What if these three men are about to man-handle me?  Heaven knows I have given them provocation enough.  I think quickly.  We are drawing nearer and nearer to the other two trainmen.  I line up the stomach and the jaw of my captor, and plan the right and left I’ll give him at the first sign of trouble.

Pshaw!  I know another trick I’d like to work on him, and I almost regret that I did not do it at the moment I was captured.  I could make him sick, what of his clutch on my collar.  His fingers, tight-gripping, are buried inside my collar.  My coat is tightly buttoned.  Did you ever see a tourniquet?  Well, this is one.  All I have to do is to duck my head under his arm and begin to twist.  I must twist rapidly—­very rapidly.  I know how to do it; twisting in a violent, jerky way, ducking my head under his arm with each revolution.  Before he knows it, those detaining fingers of his will be detained.  He will be unable to withdraw them.  It is a powerful leverage.  Twenty seconds after I have started revolving, the blood will be bursting out of his finger-ends, the delicate tendons will be rupturing, and all the muscles and nerves will be mashing and crushing together in a shrieking mass.  Try it sometime when somebody has you by the collar.  But be quick—­quick as lightning.  Also, be sure to hug yourself while you are revolving—­hug your face with your left arm and your abdomen with your right.  You see, the other fellow might try to stop you with a punch from his free arm.  It would be a good idea, too, to revolve away from that free arm rather than toward it.  A punch going is never so bad as a punch coming.

That shack will never know how near he was to being made very, very sick.  All that saves him is that it is not in their plan to man-handle me.  When we draw near enough, he calls out that he has me, and they signal the train to come on.  The engine passes us, and the three blinds.  After that, the conductor and the other shack swing aboard.  But still my captor holds on to me.  I see the plan.  He is going to hold me until the rear of the train goes by.  Then he will hop on, and I shall be left behind—­ditched.

But the train has pulled out fast, the engineer trying to make up for lost time.  Also, it is a long train.  It is going very lively, and I know the shack is measuring its speed with apprehension.

“Think you can make it?” I query innocently.