a real standing start, he had likewise chosen a new name. He
had arrived at Wichita Falls with one suit of clothes and nothing more,
except an assortment of contusions ranging in color from angry red to
black-and-blue, these same being the direct result of repeated
altercations with roughshod members of a train crew. These collisions
McWade had not sought. On the contrary, when, for instance, outside the
yards at Fort Worth his unobtrusive presence on the blind baggage had
been discovered, he had done his best to avoid trouble. He had
explained earnestly that he simply must leave the city by that
particular train. The circumstances were such that no other train would
do at all, so he declared. When he had been booted off he swung under
and rode the trucks to the next stop. There a man with a lantern had
searched him out, much as a nigger shines the eyes of a possum, and had
dragged him forth. He was dragged forth at the second stop, and again
at the third. Finally, the train was halted far out on a lonely prairie
and a large brakeman with gold teeth and corns on his palms held a knee
upon Mr. McWade's chest until the train started. Ignoring the hoarse
warning breathed into his dusty countenance, along with the odor of
young onions, the traveler argued volubly, but with no heat, that it
was vitally necessary to his affairs that he continue this journey
without interruption; then, when the brakeman rose and raced after the
departing train, he sprang to his feet and outran him. McWade was lithe
and nervous and fleet; he managed to swing under the last Pullman at
the same instant his captor reached its rear platform.

It is probable that a blithe determination even such as this would have
eventually succumbed to repeated discouragements, but at the next stop,
a watering tank, aid came from an unexpected quarter. From the roof of
the car another knight of the road signaled, and thither McWade
clambered, kicking off the clutching hand of his former enemy.

The second traveler was a robust man, deliberate but sure of movement,
and his pockets were filled with nuts and bolts. This ammunition he
divided with his companion, and such was their unerring aim that they
maintained their sanctuary for the remainder of the journey.

On the way in to Wichita Falls the stranger introduced himself as Brick
Stoner. He was a practical oil man, a driller and a sort of promoter,
too. It was his last promotion, he confided, that had made it ne