Secrets of the Andes. Foster James H.

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      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?”

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