He was going at such a momentum that in no way could he check himself, but slid diagonally across the roof of the car. There destruction seemed to face him.

His pursuer had fallen flat on the running board. Ralph dropped flat also, clutching vainly at s.p.a.ce. His fingers tore along the thin sheeting of ice. He reached the edge of the car roof.

For one moment the young fireman clung there. Then quick as a flash he slipped one hand down. It was to hook his fingers into the top slide bar of the car's side door. The action drew back the door about an inch. It was unlocked. Ralph dropped his other hold lightning-quick, thrust his hand into the interstice, pushed the door still further back, and precipitated himself forward across the floor of an empty box car.

There he lay, done up, almost terrified at the crowding perils of the instant, marveling at his wonderful escape from death.

"They must think I went clear to the ground," theorized Ralph. "I am safe for the present, at least. What an adventure! And Woods is in league with the freight thieves! That solves the problem for the railroad company.

"An empty car," he said, as he finally struggled to his feet. "I'll wait till the train stops again and then run ahead to Barton. h.e.l.lo!"

he exclaimed sharply, as moving about the car, his foot came in contact with some object.

Ralph stood perfectly still. He could hear deep, regular breathing, as of some one asleep. His curiosity impelled him to investigate farther.

He took a match from his pocket, flared it, and peered down.

Directly in one corner of the car lay a big, powerful man. He was dressed in rags. His coat was open, and under it showed a striped shirt.

"Why!" exclaimed Ralph, "a convict--an escaped convict!"

The man grasped in one hand, as if on guard with a weapon of defense, a pair of handcuffs connected with a long, heavy steel chain.

Apparently he had in some way freed himself from these.

Ralph flared a second match to make a still closer inspection of the man. This aroused the sleeper. He moved, opened his eyes suddenly, saw Ralph, and with a frightful yell sprang up.

"I've got you!" he said, seizing Ralph. "After me, are you? Hold still, or I'll throttle you. How near are the people who sent you on my trail?"

"I won't risk that," shouted the man wildly.

In a twinkling he had slipped the handcuffs over Ralph's wrists. The latter was a prisoner so strangely that he was more curious than alarmed.

"Going to stop, are they?" pursued the man, as there was some whistling ahead. "Mind you, now, get off when I do. Don't try to call, and don't try to run away, or I'll kill you."

The train stopped and Ralph's companion pulled back the door. He got out, forcing Ralph with him, and proceeded directly into the timber lining the railroad, never pausing till he had reached a desolate spot near a shallow creek.

Then the man ordered a halt. He sat down on the ground and forced his captive to follow his example.

"Who are you?" he demanded roughly.

"I am Ralph Fairbanks, a fireman on the Great Northern Railroad,"

promptly explained the young fireman.

"Do you know me?"

"I infer from these handcuffs and your under uniform that you are an escaped convict," answered Ralph.

"Know a good many people, do you?"

"Why, yes, I do," answered Ralph.

"Where is Stanley Junction?"

"About forty miles north of here. I live there."

"You do? you do?" cried the convict, springing up in a state of intense excitement. "Here, lad, don't think me harsh or mean, or cruel, but you have got to stay with me. You would betray me to the police."

"No, I would not," declared Ralph.

"You would, I know--it's human nature. There is a big reward out for me. Then, too, you know people. Yes, you must stay with me."

"I can't help you any--why should you detain me?" insisted Ralph.

"I must find a man," cried the convict, more wildly than ever--"or you must find him for me."

"What man is that?" spoke Ralph.

"Do you know a Mr. Gasper Farrington?"

"Quite well," answered Ralph, rather startled at the question.

"That is the man!" shouted the convict.

"And that is singular, for I am very anxious myself to find that same individual," said the young fireman.

Ralph felt that he was in the midst of a series of strange adventures and discoveries that might lead to important results, not only for the person he had so strangely met, but for himself, as well.

This impression was enforced as he watched his captor pace up and down the ground, muttering wildly. He seemed to have some deep-rooted hatred for Gasper Farrington. "Revenge," "Punishment," "Justice," were the words that he constantly uttered. Ralph wondered what course he could pursue to get the man down to a level of coherency and reason.

Finally the man said:

"Come, get up, we must find some shelter."

After an hour of arduous tramping they came to an old barn that had been partly burned down. There was some hay in it. The convict lay down on this, unloosed one handcuff from the wrist of his prisoner, and attached the other to his own arm and lay as if in a daze until daybreak.

Now he could inspect his prisoner clearly, and Ralph could study the worn, frenzied face of his captor. The latter had calmed down somewhat.

"Boy," he said, finally, "I don't dare to let you go, and I don't know what to do."

"See here," spoke Ralph, "you are in deep trouble. I don't want to make you any more trouble. Suppose you tell me all about yourself and see if I can't help you out."

"Oh, I don't dare to trust any one," groaned the man.

"You spoke of Gasper Farrington," suggested Ralph. "Is he an enemy of yours?"

"He has ruined my life," declared the convict.

"And why do you seek him?"

"To demand reparation, to drag him to the same fate he drove me to.

Just let me find him--that is all I wish--to meet him face to face."