Samuel the Seeker | Page 7

a caged animal; and then he would lie down by the door, straining his ears for a sound--thinking that some one might pass, unnoticed through the thick wall of the car.
By and by he became hungry and he ate the scanty meal he had in his bundle. Then he became thirsty--and he had no water.
The realization of this made his heart thump. It was no joking matter to be shut in, at one could not tell what lonely place, to suffer from thirst. He sprang up and began to pound and kick upon the door in a frenzy.
But he soon tired of that and crouched on the floor again listening and shivering, half with fear and half with cold. It was becoming chillier, so he judged it must be night; up here in the mountains there was still frost at night.
There came another train, a freight, he knew by the heavy pounding and the time it took to pass. He kicked on the door and shouted, but he soon realized that it was of no use to shout in that uproar.
The craving for water was becoming an obsession. He tried not to think about it, but that only made him think about it the more; he would think about not thinking about it and about not thinking about that-- and all the time he was growing thirstier. He wondered how long one could live without water; and as the torment grew worse he began to wonder if he was dying. He was hungry, too, and he wondered which was worse, of which one would die the sooner. He had heard that dying men remembered all their past, and so he began to remember his--with extraordinary vividness, and with bursts of strange and entirely new emotions. He remembered particularly all the evil things that he had ever done; including the theft of a ride, for which he was paying the penalty. And meantime, with another part of his mind, he was plotting and seeking. He must not die here like a rat in a hole. There must be some way.
He tried every inch of the car--of the floor and ceiling and walls. But there was not a loose plank nor a crack--the car was new. And that suggested another idea--that he might suffocate before he starved. He was beginning to feel weak and dizzy.
If only he had a knife. He could have cut a hole for air and then perhaps enlarged it and broken out a board. He found a spike on the floor and began tapping round the walls for a place that sounded thin; but they all sounded thick--how thick he had no idea. He began picking splinters away at the juncture of two planks.
Meantime hunger and thirst continued to gnaw at him. At long intervals he would pause while a train roared by, or because he fancied he had heard a sound. Then he would pound and call until he was hoarse, and then go on picking at the splinters.
And so on, for an unknown number of hours, but certainly for days and nights. And Samuel was famished and wild and weak and gasping; when at last it dawned upon his senses that a passing train had begun to make less noise--that the thumping was growing slower. The train was stopping.
He leaped up and began to pound. Then he realized that he must control himself--he must save his strength until the train had stopped. But suppose it went on without delay? He began to pound again and to shout like a madman.
The train stopped and there was silence; then came sounds of cars being coupled--and meantime Samuel was kicking and beating upon the wall. He was almost exhausted and in despair--when suddenly from outside came a muffled call--"Hello!"
For a moment he could not speak. Then "Help! Help!" he shrieked.
"What's the matter?" asked the voice.
"I'm locked in," he called. .
"How'd you get in?"
"They locked me in by accident. I'm nearly dead."
"Who are you?"
"I was riding in the car."
"A tramp, hey? Serves ye right! Better stay there!"
"No! No!" screamed the boy, in terror. "I'm starving--I've been here for days. For heaven's sake let me out--I'll never do it again."
"If I let you out," said the voice, "it's my business to arrest you."
"All right," cried Samuel. "Anything--but don't leave me here."
There was a moment's silence. "Have you got any money?" asked the voice.
"Yes. Yes--I've got money."
"Don't yell so loud. How much?"
"Why--what?"
"How much?"
"I've got eighty dollars."
"All right. Give it to me and I'll let you out."
Frantic as he was, this staggered Samuel. "I can't give you all my money," he cried.
"All right then," said the other. "Stay there."
"No, no!" he protested. "Wait! Leave me just a little."
"I'll leave you five dollars," said the voice. "Speak up! Quick!"
"All right," said Samuel faintly. "I'll