LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

to remain in their seats by the window.

      In the car were a dozen other passengers. Only one other besides the motor boat boys was especially young. She was a girl of about eighteen, blond, rather plump and very pretty. She appeared to be traveling alone, having boarded the train at Kansas City. Tom and Joe had been able to offer her a few travelers' courtesies, which had been graciously accepted. Neither young man, however, knew the girl's name. Both motor boat boys were too well bred to attempt to force an acquaintance.

      Just now, as Tom happened to lean over his seat and glance down the aisle, he saw that this young lady was in the observation compartment. She appeared to be alone there. Something in the expression on her face made her seem highly uneasy about something.

      "I hope she isn't in any trouble," murmured Halstead, to himself, "and that she isn't going to find anything unpleasant at the end of her journey."

      The next time he glanced down the aisle Halstead again caught a glimpse of her face.

      "By Jove, I believe she's been crying, or else is about to begin," muttered the young captain. "I wonder if it's real trouble, or just something that she's afraid of."

      Then Tom made haste to look away, lest the young lady should see that he had been studying her and take offense.

      "Look at the roses," commented Joe, glancing out of the window at a pretty little California village through which the train was passing at somewhat lessened speed. "Great Scott, there are violets growing in the garden we've just passed. February! Think of the deep feet of snow on either bank of the Kennebec just now!"

      "It's the land of roses and other posies, all right," agreed Halstead, himself looking out with a good deal of interest at the bright scene under the soft haze of the California winter day.

      "Say, these are real days! This beats Florida!" exclaimed Joe, enthusiastically.

      "When it doesn't rain," remarked the practical Halstead. "You know, this is the rainy season in California."

      "I don't care," contended Joe. "Even on a rainy day it must be beautiful in this fine old state."

      "And on a foggy one, also," laughed Tom. "You know, at this time of the year, there are likely to be some great old fogs around San Francisco Bay. I've heard that it takes a clever pilot to guess correctly whether he's landing at San Francisco or Oakland."

      "Humph!" grunted Joe.

      Dawson turned, looking out of the window for some time without speaking.

      "We're getting near some big town," he remarked, at last. Then, after glancing at his watch: "It must be Oakland."

      "Yes," nodded Tom. "I guess we'll soon be making our stop at the Sixteenth Street station."

      "Anything special about that station?"

      "It's the last stop before we run out onto the mole at Oakland."

      The train had now begun to run, at greatly lessened speed, through one of the streets of the city. Joe found less to interest him. He glanced upward at the rack, toward his traveling bag and overcoat.

      "That overcoat seems like an insult to the climate," he remarked.

      "Don't throw it away," advised Tom Halstead, "until you see whether some of the 'Frisco nights are chilly. I've sort of an idea they will be."

      "I wonder whether we're going to have much time ashore, or whether it will be all spent on the water?" suggested Joe. But Tom, of course, didn't know the answer.

      "Sixteenth Street next stop!" called the porter through the car.

      "Might as well stretch our legs," hinted Tom, rising. Joe also left his seat.

      As several of the passengers in the car were heading toward the front end, the motor boat boys started for the observation compartment at the rear end.

      The young lady was still standing there. It looked as though she intended to step down outside as soon as the train should come to a stop. Not wishing to intrude, Tom Halstead halted, a few feet away, Joe doing the same.

      Hardly had the train stopped when a porter opened the door of the observation compartment. The young lady quickly descended, the boys following. The young lady remained close to the steps, glancing about her. Lifting their hats, Tom and Joe stepped past her, mingling in the throng at the station. There wasn't much here to see, but it was a relief to be quit of the train for a minute or two.

      "There's the engine bell ringing," nudged Joe, at last. "We may as well hustle back."

      As the two motor boat boys turned once more, Tom saw the young woman standing beside the rear steps, one hand holding to the brass rail. She appeared rather frightened. Before her, talking rapidly, was a man of perhaps thirty years of age and some five feet nine inches in height. On his smooth-shaven, dark face rested an ugly, black look. Something that the man said just as Tom glanced that way caused the girl to wince and grow paler.

      "Why, that fellow has been on the train, though not in our car, for the last two days," occurred to Halstead, swiftly. "And now I remember I saw the young lady talking to him back at Battle Mountain. Jove! but she seems afraid of him. There, she's trying to leave him, and he has caught at her sleeve to hold her. Confound the ugly look in his eyes! I wish she were my sister for five minutes!"

      Almost unconsciously, in his indignation, Captain Tom increased his pace. Joe, looking in another direction, did not at once perceive this, and so fell a bit behind.

      "I'm not going to listen to you any longer," cried the young woman, in a voice that sounded tearful, though she was resolutely keeping the tears back out of her eyes. "You are talking like a coward!"

      "Pardon me," said Captain Tom, rather stiffly, brushing past the young man. The girl edged to give the motor boat boy room on the steps, and, as he passed her, started to follow him up into the car.

      "You're not going to leave me in that fashion," snapped the dark young man, angrily. "See here – "

      Again he caught at the girl's sleeve, after leaping up onto the lowest step.

      "Let me go," commanded the girl, indignantly.

      "Not until – "

      She wrenched herself free, then bounded after Halstead.

      "Don't let him come into the car," begged the girl.

      "Out of my way, young fellow," ordered the dark man, gaining the second step up.

      "Is this man annoying you?" asked Tom, in a friendly tone of the girl, though he turned a cool, hostile stare upon the young man.

      "Yes, he is," the young woman answered.

      "Get out of the way, boy," commanded the man, reaching out a hand.

      Tom Halstead's right hand closed instantly. His fist shot out, landing on the fellow's neck. That persecutor fell back, missed his footing, and went sprawling to the station platform. The girl had started to dart into the car, but now she turned, watching with fearful eyes.

      "Oh, don't let him hurt you!" she cried to Tom.

      "Thank you," responded the young captain, dryly; "I don't believe he will."

      The train was beginning to move as the man fell sprawling on the platform. Joe, who had seen the blow struck, darted in, dragging the fellow swiftly to his feet.

      "You'll have to hustle, mister, if you're going to get your car forward," Joe advised him.

      "This car is the one I – " began the man.

      But Joe coolly swung in ahead of him, elbowing the fellow out of the way. The next moment the porter, grinning, reached over with the key and locked the door of the car, which Dawson had closed.

      Looking the picture of rage, the man darted swiftly down the platform. The train was now moving too rapidly, however, for the stranger to get aboard, and the last car rolled by him as he stood, baffled, on the platform.

      "I – I don't know how to thank you both," faltered the girl.

      "I assure you it didn't even put us to any inconvenience," smiled Captain Tom.

      "But – oh!

Скачать книгу