freight train blockaded, and kept on down the straight rails. The stowaway had passed from his mind. Now, glancing toward the fence, he saw the lad limping down the lane.
The stowaway saw him, and coming to a halt grasped two of the fence bars, and peered and shouted at him.
"Want me?" asked Ralph, approaching. He saw that the stowaway was in bad shape, for he clung to the fence as if it rested him. He had not yet gotten all the cricks out of his bones.
"It was a tough job," muttered the boy. "It took grit! Say, tell me something, will you?"
Ralph nodded. The boy rubbed the knuckle of one hand across his coat to wipe off the blood of in abrasion, and groped in a pocket.
"Where is that?" he asked, bringing to light an envelope, and holding it slantingly for Ralph's inspection. "Can you tell me?"
"Why," said Ralph, with a start—"let me look at that!"
"No," demurred the other cautiously. "It's near enough to read. I want to find that person."
"It's my name," said Ralph, quickly and with considerable wonderment. "Give it to me."
"I guess not!" snapped the stowaway. "I don't know who John Fairbanks is, but I know enough to be sure you ain't him."
