Towards ten o’clock in the evening Stephen directed his steps to the railroad station, and seating himself on a side-tracked flat car, kicked his heels over the edge, and smoked his last pipeful of tobacco. He jangled some keys in his pocket, pretending to himself that they were money. It was bad enough, he reflected, to be “broke” in the States, where he could talk the language; but here—He looked disconsolately at the throng of Mexicans who were on the platform. “Buenos dies, and que hora? although I am sure I pronounce them well, will not take me very far in the world,” he thought. “It does not matter much where I go; but I certainly must go somewhere. I will board the first freight train that appears, whether it is going north, south, east or west.” Having come to this determination, he jumped down from the car, and walking over to the bulletin board, ran his finger down the time-table.
[197]
“Nine o’clock—train for La Punta. Well, that’s gone. Hello! Here we are—eleven P. M. express for the City of Mexico. I wonder what that asterisk means. Oh, yes, Pullmans only. That would be infinitely more pleasant than the brake-beams of a freight,” he mused, “and for me it would be equally cheap.”
Stephen was a novice at the art of “beating it,” but he possessed two very valuable assets, a keen observation and a vivid imagination. Having thus resolved to travel in state, he returned to his flat car, and set about planning ways and means. A few minutes of solemn thought gave him his first conclusion: that at this time of year the southbound trains would not be running full.
“Therefore there will be many vacant berths,” he thought.
A few more puffs upon his pipe gave him the next link in his plan. “Whether empty, or full, the Pullman company has all the berths down.”
Thought number three: “At night they make long runs, without stopping. Therefore,” thought Stephen, “once on board, and safely tucked in an upper berth, I can travel until[198] morning without being discovered and thrown off the train.”
“Now comes the second part of my problem: how to get on the train and into my berth without being discovered.” He shut his eyes, and visualized a train standing at the station. “Where would the porters stand?” he asked himself.
He thought hard, and remembered that at night the porters generally stand at opposite ends of their cars, so that every alternate set of steps is unguarded.
“Now,” he reflected, “if the berths are down, the curtains will be drawn, therefore there will be little light from the car windows, to bring me into prominence, and the passengers will probably be asleep. All will go well, if the vestibule doors are not locked. But generally on hot nights they are unlocked. Anyhow, I must risk it.”
As he mused over his plan giving it the final touches, the express for the City of Mexico thundered into the station.
With a grating of brakes, and a squish of steam, the heavy train sobbed itself to a stop, the engine dropping from the fire-box a stream[199] of glowing coals between the gleaming steel rails, and blowing forth steam from the exhaust.
“Here’s my train,” thought Loring. “It looks very comfortable.”
He slipped his pipe into his pocket, and stepping back into a shadowy corner, awaited his opportunity.
From the platform arose an irregular murmur of voices, such as always attends the arrival of a train at night. That murmur which, to the passengers lying half awake, sounds so far away, and unreal! He heard the bang and thump of trunks being thrown out of the baggage car. A party of tourists, weighted down with hand-luggage, hurried by him. Even as he thought, the white-jacketed porters stood with their little steps alternately at the right and left ends of their respective cars, so that in the long train there were three unguarded platforms.
A man was rapidly testing and oiling the car wheels. His torch flared yellow-red against the greasy brown of the trucks, and made queer shadows dance on the red varnished surface of the cars.
Stephen tried to make out the name of the car nearest to him. The first four gilt letters[200] showed clearly in the torchlight: “ELDO”—The man with the torch moved nearer. “ELDORADO,” spelled Stephen. “Perhaps the name is a delicate hint to me from Fate.”
The inspector passed on up the train, hitting ringing blows on the wheels with his short, heavy mallet. He tested the last car, then stepped back from the train, swinging his torch around his head as a signal to the engineer.
“It must be now or never,” thought Loring. But which platform to try! At that instant, from the car opposite him, came a great puff of white steam, for a moment almost obscuring the steps from view.
Loring darted forward, and jumped upon the train platform. Anxiously he thrust his shoulder against the vestibule door. It was unlocked. As he gained the vestibule, the car couplings tightened with a jerk, and the train clumsily started. He took a hasty glance down the interior of the car. At the opposite end the porter was closing the vestibule door. The aisle was clear.
Stephen stepped quickly into the car, pulled back the curtain of the nearest section, and stepping on the lower berth, caught hold of[201] the curtain bar, and with one pull swung himself up. In the process, he inadvertently stepped on the fat man in the lower berth. Stephen knew that he was fat, because he felt that way. The man swore sleepily, and twitched the curtain back into place.
“I think that I won’t put my boots out to be cleaned to-night,” said Loring to himself. “It would be tactless.” Then he pulled the blankets up over him, rolled over close to the far side of the berth, and fell asleep, lulled by the hum of the car wheels, pounding southward fifty miles an hour.
Tired out by his vigil of the night before, Stephen slept until it was late. He awoke with a start to find that it was broad daylight. Sleepily he tried to think where he was. His eye fell on the dome of polished mahogany above him, upon the swaying green curtain, and the swinging bellrope. Then he recalled the situation. For a few moments he lay back, blissfully comfortable. His weary muscles were grateful for the rest. Then he roused himself, and peered cautiously out from between the curtains. While he was looking up and down the dusty stretch of carpet in the aisle, the colored porter[202] rapped hard on the woodwork of the lower berth, and proceeded to awake the occupant.
“Last call for breakfast, number twelve, last call; half-past nine, sir, half-past nine.”
Stephen curbed a childlike desire to reach over and pull the kinky hair of the darky.
“I am sure that he would think that I was a ghost,” he laughed to himself.
He could hear the man below him turn over heavily, then grunt, and begin to dress.
“I think I also had better arise,” reflected Loring. He watched the porter until the latter was at the far end of the car, then dropping his feet over the edge of the berth he slid out onto the swaying floor, almost into the arms of the amazed Pullman conductor, who at that instant had entered the car.
“Where did you get on?” gasped the brass-buttoned official. “I didn’t know that there was an ‘upper’ taken in this car.”
“At Los Andes,” answered Stephen, “I was rather tired, so I thought I would not bother you at the time.”
The conductor looked hard at Stephen, and took in at a glance his ragged clothes, dirty shoes, and flannel shirt; then he grinned.
[203]
“That was mighty considerate of you, stranger; now let’s have your ticket. We have almost reached our next stop.”
Stephen pretended to feel in his pockets, though he well knew that it was useless. The other people in the train were beginning to stare.
“To be put off a train would be far pleasanter in imagination than in reality,” flashed across Stephen’s mind.
“Hurry up, now,” repeated the conductor. “Where is your ticket?”
“I haven’t any,” Loring blurted out.
“Come on, now, no nonsense! fork up!” insisted the conductor.
“I would gladly, if I had any money,” rejoined Stephen, then with seeming irrelevancy, he added: “How far is it from here to the ‘City’?”
“It is about seven hundred miles,” answered the conductor, “but I am sure you will find it a delightful walk.”
“Last call for breakfast in the dining-car. Last call,” again echoed through the car.
“Better hurry, sir,” said the porter, not realizing the situation, as he passed Stephen.
[204]
“Thank you,” said Loring, with a grim smile. “But I think I will refrain from eating this morning.”
A rather heavy faced man, who was sitting near by, laughed audibly. Stephen became the center of interest for the passengers. For them, the little scene was a perfect bonanza, serving to break the monotony of the trip. Loring was conscious of the stare of many eyes, about as effectually concealed behind books and magazines as is an ostrich with its head in the sand.
“Come out into the vestibule with me!” said the conductor, rather gruffly. Stephen followed him in silence. When they were on the platform, the conductor turned and looked at him squarely. Loring noticed that there could be kind line............