Francisco, and took a street car to the ferry depot. There he kept out
of sight behind a newspaper in the entrance to the waiting room until
he was permitted to pass through the iron gate to the big, resounding
room where passengers for the train ferry were herded together like
corralled sheep. It seemed very quiet there, to be the terminal
station in a large city.

Jack judged nervously that people did not flock to the best fishing in
the State, in spite of all the peanut butcher had told him. He was
glad of that, so long as he was not so alone as to be conspicuous.
Aside from the thin sprinkling of passengers, everything was just as
the boy had told him. He was ferried in a big, empty boat across the
darkling bay to the train that stood backed down on the mole waiting
for him and the half dozen other passengers. He chose the rear seat in
another chair car very much like the one he had left, gave up his
ticket and was tagged, pulled his hat down over his nose and slept
again, stirring now and then because of his cramped legs.

When he awoke finally it was daylight, and the train was puffing into
a tunnel. He could see the engine dive into the black hole, dragging
the coaches after it like the tail of a snake. When they emerged,
Jack looked down upon a green-and-white-scurrying river; away down--so
far that it startled him a little. And he looked up steep pine-clad
slopes to the rugged peaks of the mountains. He heaved a sigh of
relief. Surely no one could possibly find him in a place like this.

After a while he was told to change for Quincy, and descended into a
fresh, green-and-blue world edged with white clouds. There was no
town--nothing but green hills and a deep-set, unbelievable valley
floor marked off with fences, and a little yellow station with a red