lance. He was shocked and unnerved, but
he stepped close to the writhing culprit.

"Lem Wacker," he said, "where is that money envelope?"

"In my pocket," groaned Wacker. "I've got it this time--crippled for
life!"

The young express agent did not have to search for the stolen money
package. It protruded from Wacker's side pocket. As he glanced it over,
he saw that it was practically intact. Wacker had torn open only one
corner, sufficient to observe its contents. Bart placed the envelope in
his own pocket.

"I'm fainting!" declared Wacker.

Bart crossed under the bumpers to the other side of the freights. He
swept the scene with a searching glance, finally detected the shifting
glow of a night watchman's lantern, and ran over to its source.

He knew the watchman, and asked the man to accompany him, explaining as
they went along that Lem Wacker had got caught between two freights, was
held a prisoner in the bumpers with his foot crushed, and pointed the
sufferer out as they neared the freights.

Wacker by this time had sunk flat on the bumpers, his limbs twisted up
under him, but he managed to hold on to the brake rod. He only moaned
and writhed when the horrified watchman spoke to him.

"I'll have to get help," said the latter. "They will have to switch off
the front freights to get him loose."

The watchman took out his whistle and blew a kind of a call on the
telegraphic system. Two minutes later Bart saw McCarthy hurriedly
rounding a corner of the freight depot, and advanced towards him.

The young express agent briefly and confidentially imparted to his old
friend the fact that Lem Wacker had tried to steal some money from the
express office, and had got his deserts at last.

"Get him clear of the bumpers," said Bart, "carry him to the express
office, call for a surgeon, and don't let him be taken away from there
till I show up."

"What's moving, Stirling?" inquired McCarthy.

"Something very important. Wacker seems to be punished enough already,
and I do not know that I want him placed under arrest, but he knows
something he must tell me before he gets out of my reach."

"Then you had better wait."

"I can't do that," said Bart. "I have a special to deliver, on personal
orders from Mr. Leslie, the express superintendent."

Bart consulted his watch. It was five minutes of eleven.

"Only a little over an hour," he reflected. "I want to hustle!"

He saw to it that the recovered package was safel