"That's the way I used to sit up and watch the circus get out of town," mused Phil, grinning broadly, as he began hunting for the sleeper where his berth was.
All at once the lights seemed to disappear suddenly from before his eyes.Phil felt himself slowly settling to the ground.He tried to cry out, but could not utter a sound.
Then the lad understood that he was being grasped in a vise-like grip.
That was the last he knew.
When Phil finally awakened he was still in deep, impenetrable darkness.The train was moving rapidly, but there seemed to the boy to be something strange and unusual in his surroundings.His berth felt hard and unnatural.For a time he lay still with closed eyes, trying to recall what had happened.There was a blank somewhere, but he could not find it.
"Funny! This doesn't seem like No.11.If it is, we must be going over a pretty rough stretch of road."He put out both hands cautiously and groped about him.Phil uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Good gracious, I'm on the floor.I must have fallen out of bed."Then he realized that this could not be the case, because there was a carpet on the floor of No.11.
This was a hard, rough floor on which he was lying, and the air was close, very different from that in the well-kept sleeping car in which he traveled nightly from stand to stand.
In an effort to get to his feet the lad fell back heavily.His head was swimming dizzily, and how it did ache!
"I wonder what has happened?" Forrest thought out loud."Maybe I was struck by a train.No; that couldn't be the case, or I should not be here.But where am I? I might be in one of the show cars, but I don't believe there is an empty car on the train."As soon as Phil felt himself able to sit up he searched through his pockets until he found his box of matches, which he always carried now, as one could not tell at what minute they might be needed.
Striking a light, he glanced quickly about him; then the match went out.
"I'm in a freight car," he gasped."But where, where?"There was no answer to this puzzling question.Phil struggled to his feet, and, groping his way to the door, began tugging at it to get it open.The door refused to budge.
"Locked! It's locked on the outside! What shall I do? What shall I do?" he cried.
Phil sat down weak and dizzy.There was nothing, so far as he could see, that could be done to liberate himself from his imprisonment.Chancing to put his hand to his head, he discovered a lump there as large as a goose egg.
"I know--let me think--something--somebody must have hit me an awful crack.Now I remember--yes, I remember falling down in the yard there just as if something had struck me.Who could have done such a cruel thing?"Phil thought and thought, but the more he thought about it the more perplexed did he become.All at once he started up, with a sudden realization that the train was slowing down.He could hear the air brakes grating and grinding and squealing against the car wheels below him, until finally the train came to a dead stop.
"Now is my chance to make somebody hear," Phil cried, springing up and groping for the door again.
He shouted at the top of his voice, then beat against the heavy door with fists and feet, but not a sign could he get that anyone heard him.
As a matter of fact, no one was near him at that moment.The long freight train had stopped at a water tank far out in the country, and the trainmen were at the extreme ends of the train.
In a few moments the train started with such a jerk that Forrest was thrown off his feet.He sprang up again, hoping that the train might be going past a station there, and that someone might hear him.Then he began rattling at and kicking the door again.
It was all to no purpose.
Finally, in utter exhaustion, the lad sank to the floor, soon falling into a deep sleep.How long he slept he did not know when at last he awakened.
"Why, the train has stopped," Forrest exclaimed, suddenly sitting up and rubbing his eyes."Now I ought to make somebody hear me because it's daylight.I can see the light underneath the door.I'll try it again."He did try it, hammering at the door and shouting at intervals during the long hours that followed.Once more he lighted matches and began examining his surroundings with more care.Phil discovered a trap door inthe roof, but it was closed.
"If only there were a rope hanging down, I'd be up there in no time," he mused.I wonder if I couldn't climb up and hang to the braces.I might reach it in that way.I'm going to try it."Deciding upon this, the Circus Boy, after no little effort, succeeded in climbing up to one of the side braces in the car.>From the plates long, narrow beams extended across the car, thus supporting the roof.Choosing two that led along near the trap, Phil, after a few moments' rest, gripped one firmly in each hand from the underside and began swinging himself along almost as if he were traveling on a series of traveling rings, but with infinitely more effort and discomfort.
His hands were aching frightfully, and he knew that he could hold on but a few seconds longer.
"I've got to make it," he gasped, breathing hard.
At last he had reached the goal.Phil released one hand and quickly extended it to the trap door frame.
There was not a single projection there to support him, nor to which he might cling.His hand slipped away, suddenly throwing his weight upon the hand grasping the roof timber.The strain was too much.Phil Forrest lost his grip and fell heavily to the floor.
But this time he did not rise.The lad lay still where he had fallen.
