They made the two-five--with about three seconds to spare. Their car
was empty, so each dropped into a seat and sprawled out comfortably.
Jerry smiled grimly to himself as he looked back perhaps five
minutes later and saw how the two had slumped down in their seats.
It did not need a throaty gurgle from Dave to convince him that the
pair were sound asleep. "A fine pair of adventurers," he muttered to
himself, not entirely without some feeling of resentment. It was
well enough to be the leader, but--well, he wouldn't have minded a
little snooze himself.

He did not feel quite so critical, however, when, perhaps a half
hour later, at a terrific jolt of the train, he was roused from the
doze into which he too had fallen. A hasty glance out the window
told him that they were at Downers Crossing. With a yell that would
have done credit to a whole war-party of Comanches, he pounced upon
the two sleepers and dragged and pushed and pommeled them out onto
the platform of the car. The train was beginning to move, so their
descent was none too dignified.

"Why in thunder didn't you wake us in time so I could have got a
drink?" complained Frank.

Jerry said nothing; he felt too guilty to risk any answer. After
they had cut across to the wagon road that led in the general
direction of the river, he consoled his chum with: "Downer's farm is
only about half a mile in, and we can get all the buttermilk we want
there----" adding mischievously: "----on Wednesdays, when they
churn."