died away suddenly. Foster thought there was a side-track ahead, where
the freight would wait until a train going in the other direction
crossed the switches. If he could reach the spot in time, he might
save himself a long walk.

His knee hurt as he stumbled over the gravel at the best pace he could
make, but that did not matter much, A few minutes' sharp pain could be
borne, and he set his lips as he ran, while the perspiration dripped
from him and his breath got short. This was the consequence of leading
a soft and, in a sense, luxurious life, he thought, but when he tried
to walk next day he understood the reason better. Still, he did not
mean to be left behind in the frozen bush, and as he reached the curve
was relieved to see lights flicker about the track. When he stopped a
man flashed a lantern into his face.

"Looks as if you'd made good time, but the track's pretty rough for
breaking records on," he remarked.

"That's so," Foster answered breathlessly. "I wanted to get here
before you pulled out, because I'm going on with you."

"No, sir; it's clean against the rules. You can't get a free ride now
on a C.P. freight"

"The rules apply to hobos. I've got a first-class ticket to Montreal."

"Then why in thunder are you running back to Fort William?"

"I'd have been satisfied to make the next station. You see, I fell off
the train."