in order to make it a real standing start, he had likewise chosen
a new name. He had arrived at Wichita Falls with one suit of
clothes and nothing more, except an assortment of contusions
ranging in color from angry red to black-and-blue, these same
being the direct result of repeated altercations with roughshod
members of a train crew. These collisions McWade had not sought.
On the contrary, when, for instance, outside the yards at Fort
Worth his unobtrusive presence on the blind baggage had been
discovered, he had done his best to avoid trouble. He had
explained earnestly that he simply must leave the city by that
particular train. The circumstances were such that no other train
would do at all, so he declared. When he had been booted off he
swung under and rode the trucks to the next stop. There a man with
a lantern had searched him out, much as a nigger shines the eyes
of a possum, and had dragged him forth. He was dragged forth at
the second stop, and again at the third. Finally, the train was
halted far out on a lonely prairie and a large brakeman with gold
teeth and corns on his palms held a knee upon Mr. McWade's chest
until the train started. Ignoring the hoarse warning breathed into
his dusty countenance, along with the odor of young onions, the
traveler argued volubly, but with no heat, that it was vitally
necessary to his affairs that he continue this journey without
interruption; then, when the brakeman rose and raced after the
departing train, he sprang to his feet and outran him. McWade was
lithe and nervous and fleet; he managed to swing under the last
Pullman at the same instant his captor reached its rear platform.

It is probable that a blithe determination even such as this would
have eventually succumbed to repeated discouragements, but at the
next stop, a watering tank, aid came from an unexpected quarter.