It was a freight, all right.
"If--if you'll let me get out," Pee-wee began, on the very verge of a
panic, "if you'll let me get out----"
The convict fumblingly took him by the throat. He could feel the big,
coarse, warm fingers pressing into the sides of his neck and it gagged
him.
"If yer open yer head when we're bein' took up, I'll brain yer, hear
that?" he said. "Gimme that light, gimme yer knife."
He flashed on the light, tore the scout knife from Pee-wee's belt, and
flung the frightened boy against the side of the car. Keeping the light
pointed at him, he opened the knife. The spirit of desperate resolve
seemed to have reawakened within him at the sound of that long-hoped-for
train and Pee-wee was no more to him than an insect to have his life
trampled out if he could not be used or if his use were unavailing.
Here, unmasked, was the man who had braved the tempestuous river on that
dreadful night. Truly, as the sheriff had said, "desperate characters
will take desperate chances."
"If yer open yer head or call out or make a noise wid yer feet or poun'
de side o' de car or start a-bawlin' I'll brain ye, ye hear? Nobody gets
_me_ alive. An' if anybody comes in here 'cause o' you makin' a noise
and cryin' fer help, yer'll be the fust to git croaked--see?"
He pointed the light straight at Pee-wee, holding the open jack-knife in
his other hand, and glared at him with a look which struck terror to the
boy's heart. Pee-wee was too frightened and exhausted to answer.
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