elf 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.

He releases my collar, makes a quick run, and swings aboard. A number
of coaches are yet to pass by. He knows it, and remains on the steps,
his head poked out and watching me. In that moment my next move comes
to me. I'll make the last platform. I know she's going fast and
faster, but I'll only get a roll in the dirt if I fail, and the
optimism of youth is mine. I do not give myself away. I stand with a
dejected droop of shoulder, advertising that I have abandoned hope.
But at the same time I am feeling with my feet the good gravel. It is
perfect footing. Also I am watching the poked-out head of the shack. I
see it withdrawn. He is confident that the train is going too fast for
me ever to make it.

And the train _is_ going fast--faster than any train I have ever
tackled. As the last coach comes by I sprint in the same direction
with it. It is a swift, short sprint. I cannot hope to equal the speed
of the train, but I can reduce the difference of our speed to the
minimum, and, hence, reduce the shock of impact, when I leap on board.
In the fleeting instant of darkness I do not see the iron hand-rail of
the last platform; nor is there time for me to locate it. I reach for
where I think it ought to be, and at the same instant my feet leave
the ground. It is all in the toss. The next moment I may be rolling in
the gravel with broken ribs, or arms, or head. But my fingers g