Then he got up and crept along by the rail
throwing his light upon it. About twelve or fifteen feet along this he
paused, and crossing suddenly, examined the companion rail exactly
opposite. Then he straightened up.
"What is it?" asked Roy. But he got no answer.
Tom went back along the rail till he came to a point twelve or fifteen
feet in the other direction from the group of footprints, and here he
made another careful scrutiny of both rails. The group of footprints was
outside the track and midway between the two points in which he seemed
so much interested.
"This is the end of _our_ tracking," he said at length.
"What's the matter?"
"Come here and I'll show you. See that footprint--it's only half a
one--the front half--see? That's the last one of the lot. That's where
he climbed into the car--see?"
Roy stood speechless.
"See? Now come here and I'll show you something. See those little rusty
places on the track? It's fresh rust--see? You can wipe it off with your
finger. There's where the wheels were--see? One, two, three, four--same
on the other side, see? And down there," pointing along the track, "it's
the same way. If it hadn't been raining this week, we'd never known
about a freight car being stalled here, hey? See, those footprints are
just half-way between the rusty spots. There's where the door was. See?
This little front half of a footprint tells the story. He had to climb
to get in--poor kid. He went on a railroad train, after all.
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