SPIKE uttered a cry of fright, while Joe dashed forward to make sure that his friend was right.

As Bob had said, the railroad man had fastened the door securely. There was an opening of about eight inches, across which was a heavy chain that terminated at a large lock. In order to cut the chain, a file would be necessary.

Of the three prisoners, Spike was the first to resume his natural attitude. Perhaps this was due to his wide experience in riding freight trains. At any rate he seemed to forget his plight and resign himself over to any fate.

“Tough luck!” the lad said. “Guess you guys will have to ride with me to Chicago. May be several days before we can get anything to eat, too.”

“That’s the worst part about it,” lamented Bob. “It may be days, or even weeks, before we’ll reach our destination.”

Bob and Joe were inclined to be downhearted, but their young friend was cheerful.

“Don’t you worry,” he consoled them. “I’ve been in tight fixes like this many a time, and I’ve always got out all right. One time I went out West and got locked in just like we are now.”

Young Spike sounded like an experienced vagabond, and the youths could not help laughing.

“How did you get out?” asked Joe, after the laugh had subsided.

“It was easy. When we stopped at a town I just waited for some hobo to come along. Somehow he got ahold of a file and had me out in a jiffy. Hoboes are good to do anything like that for you.”

“Let’s hope history will repeat itself,” muttered Bob, who, along with Joe, did not like the prospects of a trip to Chicago.

Less than ten minutes later there was a slight jar, and the train started moving. Although pulled by a large engine, there was little chance of high speed, for a line of cars over a half-mile long stretched far down the track.

Bob, Joe, and Spike crowded before the crack to catch a glimpse of the town at which they had stopped. But aside from a number of freight cars and old buildings, there was little to be seen.

“Suppose we arrange boxes in front of what little opening there is,” suggested Joe. “We may as well amuse ourselves by looking out.”

“That reminds me,” burst out Spike. “I want to see if anything in this car has stuff to eat in it.”

He at once began a search of the many boxes, bales, and crates that were packed in each end of the car. Suddenly he gave a cry of delight.

“Here’s apples!” he cried excitedly. “Gee whiz! Who says we don’t eat?”

But the fruit was in tightly nailed crates, which could not be easily opened.

“Come here, fellows!” shouted Spike. “Give me a hand! You don’t expect me to open ’em when there’s big guys like you around, do you?”

“Wait a minute!” commanded Bob. “Whose apples are they?”

“Whose are they? I don’t know. Why?”

“Do you think it’s right to get in a box car and eat up somebody’s apples?”

“Ah, gee whiz! You ain’t gonna back out of a chance like this, are you? Come on. Be a sport.”

Bob stoutly refused.

“We’re not going to open any boxes or crates around here, and you’re not either! Get that and get it straight! Of course if we have to, to keep from starving, we will. But not now.”

Against this stout protest there was no use persisting, and Spike finally walked sullenly back to his seat before the slightly open door.

“You guys sure are the berries,” he said with an ironic smile. “You’ll never get anywhere that way.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Joe corrected him. “We will and you won’t, unless you get such notions out of your head.”

“Ah, blooey!”

A half-hour of silence followed, during which time the three gazed absently out, watching the farms, the forests, the rivers and creeks slip by. They were beginning to enter the Appalachian Mountains, and more of natural beauty promised to be visible.

But Bob and Joe did not care to observe the beauties of nature just then. Their thoughts were dwelling on the probabilities of the future. What lay in store for them? Would they be able to get home in time to accompany their fathers to the Andes Mountains, or would fate rule that they remain for an indefinite period in this box car? If the truth were known, the youths were not a little worried.

Darkness was beginning to enshroud the travelers, and the necessity of making improvised beds moved them to action. There was a large pile of burlap sacks in a far corner of the car. These they arranged a short distance from the partly open door.

“I don’t think these bags are inhabited,” smiled Joe. “They look almost brand-new. At any rate we’ll take a chance with them.”

“We’ll have to,” agreed Bob, who realized the necessity of a rest after such an arduous day.

However, the travelers spent an hour or so longer gazing out at the dim outlines of the mountains. Although Bob and Joe were tired, they had an uneasy feeling about resigning themselves over to sleep. Something unexpected might happen during the night.

Finally Bob arose and walked over to his bunk.

“Suppose we turn in,” he suggested. “We may need plenty of energy tomorrow. It’s possible for almost anything to happen, you know.”

Joe nodded and took his place beside his friend, but Spike announced that he would remain up awhile longer.

Almost at once the youths fell asleep. But from their experiences in dangerous lands they had learned to keep one eye open as a precaution.

This proved to be unnecessary, however, and they awoke the next morning greatly refreshed.

“We’re on the other side of the mountains,” observed Joe, as he stretched and glanced out of the crack.

“Now maybe we can make better time,” Bob said, moving over to the door.

The three travelers were forced to begin the day without breakfast. Spike insisted that they open the crates of apples, but Bob firmly refused.

“We may find some way out today,” the youth consoled him. “If we have to, we can eat a few of those apples tonight.”

All morning the train continued on its journey, passing small towns and villages. Along toward noon it stopped at Charleston, West Virginia, where after an hour of switching it was left on a side track.

Suddenly Joe, who was standing by the crack, caught sight of a trainman not far away. The man’s face was rather pleasant, with no trace of gruffness.

“There’s a chance,” Joe said. “Let’s ask him to help us out.”

“No, don’t,” pleaded Spike, pulling Joe back.

“Why not?”

“’Cause if he gets you out he won’t let me keep in this car to Chicago.”

“But what about Bob and me? We don’t want to ride all that distance.”

“No. Go ahead and call him,” directed Bob, who was moving up to the door. “Spike can find another car that’s going to Chicago. We want to get home.”

Disregarding the lad’s protest, Joe shouted and motioned for the man to come to the box car. There was a look of surprise on the fellow’s face as he moved over to where the three were trapped.

“What’s it all about?” he demanded. “You guys trying to steal a ride, huh? Come on out of there and pick a car that ain’t got anything in it.”

“We can’t get out,” explained Joe. “Locked in, I guess. That’s what we wanted of you. See if you can get the door open.”

“Oh! So they penned you up, huh? Yeah. I see that locked chain now. Sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you.”

“But—but we’ve got to get out,” Joe said persistently. “We haven’t had anything to eat for quite a while.”

The man hesitated a moment.

“Got any money?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Let’s see it.”

Joe held up a half-dollar.

“O.K. There’s a grocery a block from here. Want me to get you something?”

Delighted at such a chance, Joe instructed the trainman to purchase several articles of food that would be sufficient to last for several days. It was with a feeling of high hope that the youths watched the man walk in the direction of the store.

In less than fifteen minutes he was back and handed Joe a sack of groceries in return for money. In recognition for his service, the youth tipped him generously.

“Now for a delicious meal,” said Bob, smacking his lips. “And will we eat!”

The boys did eat, and felt much better for it. When they had scraped up the last crumb, they stretched out on the burlap sacks.

The remainder of the day passed without incident. Darkness was just setting in when, with a slight jerk, the train started moving.

Even though they had expected an undisturbed sleep, Bob and Joe were delighted that they were again on their way. Every mile left behind would mean that they were nearer Chicago, which was perhaps the only city at which they could hope to escape from their prison.

“Let’s hope we make good time now,” breathed Bob, as he and his friends turned in, to get what sleep a rumbling train would allow them.

All through the night the freight rattled on, this time much faster than before. Although several stops were made, the train made unusually good time, pulling into Cincinnati late the next morning.

“Here’s where we’ll have to wait,” said Joe. “They might keep us switched here for several days.”

Almost at once their box car was sidetracked, and was not moved until late the next day. About four o’clock another engine was attached, a much shorter train being formed. Then slowly it pulled off the switch and found a through track.

Bob and Joe could hardly believe their eyes. Were they to leave Cincinnati so soon?

An hour later this question was answered. The boys found themselves speeding along to Chicago, after having remained on the switch less than twenty-four hours.

“I suppose we’ll stop at every town and small city in Indiana,” said Bob gloomily. “Even though this is a fast freight, a delay will be almost inevitable.”

The youth was right. It was nearly three days later when the train entered the city limits of Chicago. Gary and other cities of the Calumet district had been left behind.

After what seemed like hours of constant travel in the metropolis, the freight stopped at a busy switch yard, where scores of trains were moving in all directions.

Suddenly Bob cried out in delight as he caught sight of a man walking up the track. The youth recognized this fellow as the one who had snapped the lock on the box-car door, making the young men and Spike prisoners on the train.

Bob at once called the man, who, upon hearing, turned about in surprise.

“Why—what—what are you doing in that car?” he demanded angrily, as he caught sight of the youth.

“We want to get out!” Bob’s voice was cool and determined.

“But how did you get in there? I thought I locked that door. I——”

“Let us out and we’ll tell you all about it,” Bob pleaded.

The man pulled a bunch of keys out of his pocket and immediately unlocked the door. Bob hurriedly rolled it open and jumped out, followed by Joe and young Spike.

It was good to feel their feet on the ground again. Bob and Joe could have cried out in joy. But there was little time to do this, for the trainman demanded an explanation of their presence.

Briefly Bob narrated the circumstances that led to their boarding the train, shielding Spike as much as possible. When he had finished, the man viewed the young lad critically.

“I think I’ll turn you over to the yard master,” he said to Spike, “and see that you get what’s coming to you.”

He roughly caught hold of the boy’s arm and pulled him forward.

“Wait a minute,” begged Joe. “Spike didn’t do any harm. He’s promised to quit running around and go home and go to school.”

“Well, he ain’t gonna get no sympathy from me. I got no use for a kid that rides freights.”

He gave the boy another pull, this time so violent that the latter slipped and fell, bruising his face on the cinders.

Bob grew furiously angry. He stepped boldly up to the trainman.

“Let the boy alone!” he demanded, his eyes seeming to penetrate the man.