CHAPTER XVII

Strong Man

amid the rattle and banging of couplings, the long freight train jarred to a stop.

The boys, caught halfway between caboose and engine in their advance over the roofs of the careening cars, were thrown off balance and had to drop to their hands and knees to absorb the shock. But they arose at once.

"Now we can run up front," Joe cried out. "But hurry! This might be only a short stop."

Jumping from roof to roof, the boys shouted to attract the attention of any of the train crew who might be near. But no answering call came, and by the time they had covered a dozen cars the heavy freight gave a lurch and started up again, accelerating at an alarming rate. In a few minutes it was rolling even faster than before.

Joe, crouching and trying to flatten himself before the rush of air, cried, "Frank! The wind-it's terrific. I can-hardly-hold on!"

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Frank himself was no better off. In a spread* eagled position behind Joe, he tried to brace himself on the swaying car top.

"Try-to-get-to-front. Grab-edge-of car!" Frank shouted.

Suddenly the gale carried a weird, piercing cry to their ears.

"That voice," Joe shouted. "Where is it coming from?"

They looked about, but there was no sign of anyone on the cars in front or behind them. Again the wind-whipped shout was heard.

"It's underneath us!" Frank yelled.

He slithered over near the edge of the roof and peered down. A rugged-looking, heavily-bearded face was gazing up from the car door. Its owner, a huge, broadly built man, held the boxcar door open with one hand and leaned out over the rushing roadbed to get a better view upward.

"Hey, you guys!" he shouted. "Wanta get kilt? Come down here. Feet first!"

Joe edged alongside Frank. "Friend or foe, we'll have to take the chance. We can't last much longer up here on the roof."

As Frank nodded, he twisted around so that his feet slid over the edge of the car. The screaming wind grabbed his body and swung it sideways as he carefully slid down. All at once he felt strong hands grab his legs in a tight grip. When his hands alone

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held him to the edge of the roof, Frank hesitated.

"Let go!" came the reassuring shout from below. "I've got you all right!"

With a sharp intake of breath, the boy released his hold. At that moment the car gave a sharp lurch, and for a moment Frank thought he would be hurled onto the roadbed.

But the man's grasp was more powerful than the boy had expected. He wrapped one leg around an upright stud and calmly lifted his human cargo safely into the car's interior.

"Thanks!" Frank murmured gratefully.

The man looked at him curiously, then leaned out and waved for Joe to follow. In a moment the younger Hardy was safe alongside his brother. Then, standing in the big car, dimly lighted by the butt of a candle set in an old tomato can, they faced the stranger.

He was as big as any man the boys had ever seen, well over six feet, and with broad shoulders and a deep chest.

"You two 'bos were ridin' the wrong part of the car," he boomed. "You ain't been around much or you'd know better. Ridin' the top o' a western freight just ain't done. They hit over fifty mile an hour."

"It felt like a hundred," Frank said. "I thought you'd never be able to hold onto us!"

"Nuthin' to it, nuthin' to it. Been liftin' weights

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all my life. Used to be the strong man in Mercer Brothers Circus, until it folded up last year."

The man rolled his biceps like writhing snakes.

"I'm Kiko the Human Derrick," he continued. "Ever hear o' me?"

"No, we're Easterners. I don't think Mercer Brothers ever played out our way," Frank replied.

"Nah, we only hit the West. That's why you never caught my act. Too bad. I used to lift five hundred pounds like nuthin'!"

"That I wouldn't doubt," said Joe.

"Where you 'bos headed?" asked Kiko, changing the subject abruptly.

"Why, that's a question," Joe replied evasively. "We seem to be along for the ride. Where does this freight go?"

"Red Butte."

"How far is that?"

"A long way," the giant replied laconically, and lapsed into silence.

As the boys sat on the rough timber floor, listening to the clicking of wheels on rails, they wondered if they could possibly return to Spur Gulch in time to meet their father.

Joe, growing more and more fidgety, looked at his wrist watch. Despite the knocking about it had taken, it was still running, and by its luminous dial, he could see it was after ten o'clock.

"Not much time left to this day!" he remarked to

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Frank. "And no way to keep our date with-" Joe caught himself just in time to bite off the word "Dad."

Aroused from his reverie by the boy's voice, Kiko noticed their restlessness.

"Say, what are you guys up to?" he asked. "I thought you weren't going anywhere in particular."

Frank was resolved not to let him in on any more of the situation than necessary. No telling which way his sympathies might lie in an emergency. It would be best to let Kiko think they were hobos.

"We just heard that a friend of ours was goin' to be at Spur Gulch," he said. "Know where that is?"

"Sure, just a coupla miles from here. We'll be goin' through there soon."

"Then let's get off," Joe said excitedly.

"That's what you think," Kiko muttered.

The brothers tensed. Having helped them once, did this giant now mean to block their way?

"What do you mean?" Frank asked uneasily.

"This train gallops through Spur Gulch like a wild bull on the loose. You won't be gettin' off there!"

"Where's the next upgrade?" Joe asked, knowing the train would slow down at that point.

"About a mile past the gulch. Yeah, maybe you could get off there."

As Kiko had foretold, they soon felt the train's pace slackening until it was pulling along at a very low speed.

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"This is it," Frank said.

Kiko opened the heavy sliding door. The rough countryside of rocks and trees was plainly visible in the bright moonlight.

"Give me your hands, kids, and I'll let you down easy," Kiko offered.

"Thanks for your help," Frank said appreciatively. "Maybe we'll meet again sometime."

"Glad to do it. Us hobos got to help each other out-it's a tough enough life as it is."

Bracing himself against the door jamb, Kiko seized Joe's arms and held him out from the car's sides as easily as if he were a midget.

"Here comes a smooth spot!"

"Out on the sand!" yelled the big man, and eased Joe down on the smooth surface. A hundred yards down the track Frank followed. They could see Kiko in the doorway, waving and grinning broadly, and the Hardys yelled another thank-you.

"We sure were lucky to run into him," Joe remarked as they watched the freight disappear from view.

"Yes, a strong man in a circus, can you beat that?" Frank returned. "You meet strange people riding the rails."

Joe laughed. "I'll take a nice, comfortable Pullman chair, with a solid double window and air conditioning."

"Not now," Frank said seriously. "We have a good hike ahead of us back to Spur Gulch. It's

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nearly time for our date with Dad. I wonder if he's anywhere around?"

Taking a moment to survey the scene, the boys saw that they had dropped off the train about halfway up the grade. At its peak the freight had pulled around a curve, and then had vanished on a downgrade.

"Well, let's get moving," Joe suggested, and struck out in a westerly direction.

They had hardly hit their stride along the ties when Frank pulled up short.

"Look over there, Joe. In that patch of woods."

The orange-and-red light of a small campfire flickered through a thick grove of trees.

"Should we take time to see who's there?" Joe questioned. "After all, we're late now. Dad wants us at Spur Gulch. That campfire may belong to a gang of hobos-like Kiko."

"On the other hand," Frank reasoned, "Dad might be there himself."

Frank's argument convinced his brother, and the two boys left the right-of-way and moved cautiously toward the fire. It was no easy matter to force their way through the brush without signaling their advance. There had been no rain for a long time, and the footing was dry and covered with small branches and leaves.

Carefully placing each foot to avoid making any noise, the Hardys advanced among the trees. At the

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far edge of the grove in which the fire was located they paused in the underbrush and peered ahead.

A dozen men were huddled around the fire. One or two seemed to be eating. The others appeared to have finished their meal and were warming themselves near the blaze.

In the low buzz of conversation someone occasionally would make a wisecrack to provoke a chorus of rough laughter. Presently a deep voice which was raised above the rest gave the Hardys a chance to learn the subject of the men's conversation.

"Well, the boss and his new friend'll be here soon," the man rumbled. "Then the fireworks'll start!"

"Did you hear that, Frank?" Joe whispered. "This may be some sort of organized gang."

"Sh-h-h . . ."

"We can't wait for them much longer," another voice announced impatiently. "Number 68's due here in a little while."

"What's Number 68?" Joe muttered in his brother's ear. "One of the gang?"

"I'll bet it's the number of a train," Frank reasoned.

"You mean . . ."

"I mean I think these men may be train robbers. They're waiting to wreck Number 68 on the tracks right over there!"

"Then maybe we're not too late," Joe said hope-

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fully. "Dad's probably around here somewhere. Let's get closer to these guys. Maybe we can hear exactly what they're up to."

The boys had crawled forward several feet when Frank gripped his brother's arm, pulling him to a stop. With his other hand cupped around Joe's ear, he whispered:

"It just occurred to me-that fellow mentioned the boss and his new friend. Do you think he could have meant Flint and Turk?"