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Now and then the train stopped, and then we had our thrills. At the first stop a train-hand stood just outside the door talking to some one, and before he went away, just casually, without looking inside, stretched up and shoved the door shut.

"Good man," Slim muttered. "I was feeling the draught a bit."

The sound of feet went past on boardwalk to one side, or on cinders to the other. At the second halt somebody clambered on to the bumper at the end at which Slim had closed the wicket. We wondered if it was going to be opened, but next moment the scuffling heels outside had passed. They were evidently only of some man, brakeman likely, crossing from one side of the train to the other, who happened to select our car for the transit. A minute after—doubtless he had been signaling to the engineer—we heard a series of noises beginning far ahead and coming closer, clatter and clash. Then the bumper of our car received a thwack, and the thwacks went on to the rear end. The puffing of the locomotive seemed far off as she got under way. Off we went, then halted abruptly, with a jar, and went backwards.