It's at the station now."
"So? Did any of our friends come on it?"
"Abrams has gone down to find out."
"Come along then," said I. "We'll see what is to be seen."
"Don't!" cried Fitzhugh, catching my arm. "They might get you."
"Nonsense," said I, shaking off his grasp. "Have your revolver ready,
and follow me."
CHAPTER XXIII
A PIECE OF STRATEGY
A few idlers were on the platform of the station as we approached with
much apparent unconcern, our hands in our overcoat pockets where the
weapons lay.
"Where's the train?" I asked, looking at the bare track.
"Yonder," grunted a native, pointing his thumb lazily up the road where
the engine lay by the watering tank, slaking its thirst.
"Well, just let me and Lockhart walk ahead," said Fitzhugh gruffly, as
we started along the track. "I shouldn't have the first idea what we
was here for if you was to be knocked over."
Fitzhugh could not be much more in the dark on this point than I, but I
let him have his way. If some one was to be shot, I was ready to resign
my claim to the distinction in favor of the first comer.
There were perhaps a score of people about the car.
"There's Abrams," said Lockhart.
"There's no danger, then," said Fitzhugh with a grin. "See, he's
beckoning to us."
We hastened forward eagerly.
"What is it?" I asked.
"There's no one here," said Abrams, with a puzzled look.
"Well, this car didn't come alone," I returned. "Have you asked the
engineer?"
"Yes.
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