started on. Scarcely had the two boys dropped from the side-door of
the box-car, and before they had made a score of steps along the
narrow way between the train and the abyss, than the train began to
move. Young Dick, quick and sure in all his perceptions and
adjustments, dropped on the instant to hands and knees on the trestle.
This gave him better holding and more space, because he crouched
beneath the overhang of the box-cars. Tim, not so quick in perceiving
and adjusting, also overcome with Celtic rage at the brakeman, instead
of dropping to hands and knees, remained upright to flare his opinion
of the brakeman, to the brakeman, in lurid and ancestral terms.

"Get down!--drop!" Young Dick shouted.

But the opportunity had passed. On a down grade, the engine picked up
the train rapidly. Facing the moving cars, with empty air at his back
and the depth beneath, Tim tried to drop on hands and knees. But the
first twist of his shoulders brought him in contact with the car and
nearly out-balanced him. By a miracle he recovered equilibrium. But he
stood upright. The train was moving faster and faster. It was
impossible to get down.

Young Dick, kneeling and holding, watched. The train gathered way. The
cars moved more swiftly. Tim, with a cool head, his back to the fall,
his face to the passing cars, his arms by his sides, with nowhere save
under his feet a holding point, balanced and swayed. The faster the
train moved, the wider he swayed, until, exerting his will, he
controlled himself and ceased from swaying.

And all would have been well with him, had it not been for one car.
Young Dick knew it, and saw it coming. It was a "palace horse-car,"