CHAPTER XXI

LOCKED IN A FREIGHT CAR.

Fate played into Foote’s hands the next afternoon, when he had planned to resort to his last ruse against Jim Phillips. His plan was one, he was convinced, that would, if he could only work it out, make his victory complete. But the problems involved in actually accomplishing his purpose were numerous and varied. However, Jim himself, with no intention of doing anything of the sort, paved the way for his enemy. He had felt a little sluggish on the day after the commencement game with Harvard, the natural result, as Dick Merriwell told him, of the excitement of the game, and the universal coach had advised him to get out on the water.

“Don’t row yourself,” he had advised. “That might be bad for your arm. Lie in the back of the boat and steer, and just take it easy. There’s no need for you to practice to-day. Be at the station in time for the train.”

So Jim, with Woeful Watson, his classmate, known to the whole of Yale as the sophomore pessimist, had taken a boat and gone up the river after luncheon.

“I’ll do the rowing,” said Watson. “I’m not reckless, like most of our crowd, Jim, and I’ll do my best to get you back safe. I’ve got a hunch that something’s going wrong to-day, and I’ll be on the watch for it.”

It was still early when Watson had looked at his watch? and decided that it was time to turn around and get back to the station.

“What’s the use of going back so soon?” asked Jim, who was enjoying his rest. “We’ll only have to wait an hour or so at the station.”

“Better do that than miss the train,” said Watson relentlessly. “I’m responsible for you to-day, Jim, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’ve got to obey my orders now, you know. I represent Mr. Merriwell.”

So Jim laughed, and gave in, knowing the folly of arguing with Watson when the pessimist had once made up his mind.

It was just as Jim had predicted. They found themselves at the station an hour before train time. It was a hot, lazy summer afternoon. Few people were around. Lessons were over for the year, and most Yale men had scattered. A great many were in New York, waiting for the game with Harvard. Others had gone to New London, to visit the oarsmen, and practically the whole college would assemble there the following week, in preparation for the boat race with Harvard. So the station was pretty well deserted.

“I’m going uptown,” said Jim to Watson. “I don’t want to wait around here.”

“You’re going to stay right here,” said Watson firmly. “I’ve got you here, and here you’ll stay until I deliver you, in good order, to Mr. Merriwell, and get his receipt for you. Then you can do anything you blame please. If you want relaxation and something to look at, I’ll go down to the freight station with you.”

“All right,” said Jim. “Gee! Watson, you’d make a fine coach. You’re a regular tyrant. I’m glad I’m not under you all the time. I’ll ask for an easier keeper the next time.”

Laughing, they wandered away from the station and down the tracks to the freight depot, where the only activity in the neighborhood seemed to be.

But, although they did not know it, they were not the only Yale men around. For every move they had made had been observed by Foote, who, scarcely able to believe in his luck, had seen Jim appear, practically alone, for he took little account of Watson. Now he saw how to work his plan with what little chance of failure and discovery there had been before eliminated. When they had got out of sight, he followed them cautiously, making it impossible for them to know that they were being tracked, and he was not far behind them when they got into the maze of the tracks of the freight yard, where the numerous cars enabled him to stalk them and get close to them without exciting their suspicion in any way.

On one of the tracks a long train of empty freight cars was being made up. The cars had brought freight to New Haven from points all over the United States, and they were now being prepared to start on their long journey back to their starting point. Jim and Watson wandered along this long train. An engine was backing up to one end of it, and, at the back, the brakemen were taking their places in the caboose. The run to New York would mean little work for them. They had tobacco, pipes, and cigarettes, and one of them, standing on the track, held up a pack of cards.

“Big game to-day,” he shouted. “Got a pinochle deck here. Who’s in?”

“Pretty soft for them,” said Watson.

“Sometimes,” answered Jim, with a smile. “But if you’d ever braked on a freight out West in the winter, in the middle of a blizzard, when they’re crossing the divide, you wouldn’t think it was an easy job. Grades that you’d have a fit just to look at, and brakes to set when the temperature’s away below zero. They have it hard about as often as they have it easy, I guess.”

“Hello!” exclaimed Watson. “What’s that?”

From somewhere near by there came the cry of a child—a baby. It seemed to be in distress of some sort. The cry was very faint, but clear and unmistakable. They both stopped to listen.

“Sounds like a hungry kid,” said Jim. “My young sister used to yell just that way when she was a baby. I wasn’t much older, but I can remember that much.”

“It sounds that way to me, too,” said Watson. “Let’s see if we hear it again.”

In a moment the cry came to them again.

“We ought to see if we can find it,” said Jim. “I’ve heard of things like that. Kid might be lost—or some one might have wanted to get rid of it, and dropped it around here somewhere. Gee! It might starve to death if no one found it. This is a pretty lonely place.”

“It’s right up this way,” said Watson, running toward the caboose of the freight train.

“No,” cried Jim. “It’s the other way, Woeful.”

But Watson paid no attention to the pitcher. He was sure he was right, and he darted along, looking into car after car. Jim, on the other hand, ran toward the engine. For several seconds the cry was not repeated. Then he heard it again, and this time it seemed to come from a car immediately in front of him. With a quick jump, he swung himself up and inside the car, leaving the door open behind him. Even with the open door, it was dark in the big freight car. He could see that it had held grain of some sort. The smell, pleasant and summery, although rather dry, was evidence enough, without the grains of wheat that still clung to the floor.

But there was no sign of a child. A minute’s examination served to show that. He turned to the door, to look in the next car. But, even as he did so, the door was slammed shut in his face, and he was locked in the car.

He beat on the door, and shouted. Listening, he could hear nothing outside for a moment. Then, very faintly, and as if he were hearing a voice from a great distance, he heard what sounded like a mocking laugh. For a moment he thought Watson had played a joke on him, though such jokes were not at all in the line of the class pessimist. It would have been more like Brady or Maxwell.

He beat on the door again, and shouted until he was hoarse. It was very dry and hot inside the car when the door was shut, and his voice soon lost its power, so that he stopped shouting. He knew that it was useless.

Then he stood still by the door, expecting every moment that the joker, whoever he was, would release him, and enjoy a good laugh at his expense. He was prepared for that, and willing to submit to it. But the minutes passed, and he was still there. There was no sign of a move to release him. He began to grow anxious, and to fear that he would miss the train for New York.

Suddenly he heard something that made him renew his beating on the door and his useless shouting. There was a creaking, groaning sound that he knew only too well, and in a moment his worst fears were confirmed. The train was beginning to move, and he was still locked in.

Fury succeeded to his amusement at the joke he had supposed to be intended. They were carrying it too far. Then he was almost panic-stricken. He had heard of men, locked in freight cars, who had traveled hundreds of miles before being discovered, with neither food nor water, and even of some who had been dead when found. And this car, as he knew, was being sent back West. Being empty, it would move slowly, and no one was likely to open it until the end of the trip. He realized suddenly the full danger of his position.