The Cowpuncher Read Online Free Page A

bulky form lumbering across the tracks.
    “All right,” he told the old man quietly, “straightahead—keep back outa sight. Straight ahead until we’re ‘round the bulge of the curve.”
    The old man, dominated by Huck’s vigor and self-assurance, stifled his pessimistic plaints and followed Huck as he cut lithely through the growth. Before the detective had reached the lip of the embankment, the fugitives were around the bend. Below, they could see the boxcars filing heavily past as the long train gathered speed. For the moment they were out of sight of the pursuit.
    Without a second’s hesitation, Huck went sliding down the embankment toward the tracks. The old man, understanding his purpose at last, grunted approval. He followed close behind Huck and they reached the moving train together.
    “Look!” he exclaimed. “Here comes a empty—door half open! Think we can make it?”
    “Easy,” replied Huck coolly, running along beside the rocking boxcars.
    Along came the empty, its wheels drumming hollowly. With one hand Huck caught the door jamb, and rested his other lightly on the sill. With a leap and a scramble, he was inside the car. Turning swiftly he reached down a hand to his companion. The old man gripped it and the big cowboy lifted him into the car with no apparent effort.
    Together they crouched on the rough boards, peering through the opening, listening for sounds of pursuit. On the embankment they could see lanterns winking about like angry fireflies, vanishing one by one as the pursuers beat their way deeper into the brush.
    “Godfrey, feller, but you’re smart!” exclaimedthe old man, “making them hellions think we was cuttin’ ‘crost country and then doublin’ back onto the train again. All we got to do now is watch the big yards over to Washoe on the chanct that they telegraph ahead to search the train for us there, which I don’t figger they’ll do. Yeah, we’re settin’ purty now.”
    He leaped to his feet and ducked as a voice suddenly spoke over his shoulder.
    “Yeah, that’s the idea, brother Come back where it’s comf’t’ble, and set!”

III
Al Fresco Breakfast
    Huck took a long step, hugging the inner wall of the car. The voice sounded friendly enough, but he was taking no chances.
    “Just who are you, feller?” he asked, and instantly shifted his position again.
    A single chuckle sounded in the dark, followed by a pair of others.
    “Jest three titled gents,” replied the voice, “lords of leisure—knights of the road. We heard the shindig and cal’lated somebody’s got in bad with the yard dicks. Glad to see you outsmarted the lousy loafers. Wait a minute—till we’re clear of the yards—and I’ll make a light. We got a lantern here and there’s plenty of straw in this end of the car. Keep outa t’other end—there’s firebrick loaded there. Reckon that’s how this door didn’t happen to be sealed—nobody’s gonna carry off firebrick. Figger it’s bound for the Colorado smelters or stamp mills, mebbe.”
    Silence followed for a space. Then a match scratched and a tiny flame flickered. It was succeeded by the warm, steady glow of a lantern in whose light Huck could distinguish three grinning faces crowned by unbelievably tattered hats. A scrub of beard covered each face; but the eyes of all were unanimously good-humored and friendly.
    One man was wondrously obese, the other two as magnificently scrawny. The fat man waved a hand to the straw heaps.
    “Draw up, brothers, and set,” he invited them.
    Grinning, Huck and the old man obeyed, settling themselves comfortably in the straw. The click of the wheels over the rail joints was quickening its tempo, the car was beginning to lurch and sway.
    “Name’s Mason—Lank Mason,” the fat man offered. “This here scantlin’ on my right is Fatty Bromes; one on the left is Bad-eye Wilson: they’re headin’ for Californy. Colorado’s my stop—Apishapa River country in Las Animas County.”
    Huck saw his