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“I guess we’d better go in,” I said. I felt funny with so much new country. I suppose it really looked just the same as the country where we lived but it did not feel the same. I suppose every patch of hardwood with the leaves turning looks alike but when you see a beech woods from the train it does not make you happy; it only makes you want the woods where you live. But I did not know that then. I thought it would all be like where we lived only more of it and that it would be just the same and give you the same feeling, but it didn’t. We did not have anything to do with it. The hills were worse than the woods. Perhaps all the hills in Michigan look the same but up in the car I looked out of the window and I would see woods and swamps and we would cross a stream and it was very interesting and then we would pass hills with a farmhouse and the woods behind them and they were the same hills but they were different and everything was a little different. I suppose, of course, that hills that a railroad runs by can not be the same. But it was not the way I had thought it was going to be. But it was a fine day early in the fall. The air was fine with the window open and in a little while I was hungry. We had been up since before it was light and now it was almost half past eight. My father came back down the car to our seat.

“How do you feel, Jimmy?”

“Hungry.”

He gave me a bar of chocolate and an apple out of his pocket.

“Come on up to the smoker,” he said and I followed him through the car and into the next one ahead. We sat down in a seat, my father inside next to the window. It was dirty in the smoker and the black leather on the seats had been burned by cinders.

“Look at the seats opposite us,” my father said to me without looking toward them. Opposite us two men sat side by side. The man on the inside was looking out the window and his right wrist was handcuffed to the left wrist of the man who sat beside him. In the seat ahead of them were two other men. I could only see their backs but they sat the same way. The two men who sat on the aisle were talking.

“In a day coach,” the man opposite us said. The man who sat in front of him spoke without turning around.

“Well why didn’t we take the night train?”

“Did you want to sleep with these?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“It’s more comfortable this way.”

“The hell it’s comfortable.”

The man who was looking out of the window looked at us and winked. He was a little man and he wore a cap. There was a bandage around his head under the cap. The man he was handcuffed to wore a cap also but his neck was thick, he was dressed in a blue suit and he wore a cap as though it was only for travelling.

The two men on the next seat were about the same size and build but the one on the aisle had the thicker neck.

“How about something to smoke, Jack?” the man who had winked said to my father over the shoulder of the man he was handcuffed to. The thick-necked man turned and looked at my father and me. The man who had winked smiled. My father took out a package of cigarettes.

“You want to give him a cigarette?” asked the guard. My father reached the package across the aisle.

“I’ll give it to him,” said the guard. He took the package in his free hand, squeezed it, put it in his handcuffed hand and holding it there took out a cigarette with his free hand and gave it to the man beside him. The man next to the window smiled at us and the guard lit the cigarette for him.

“You’re awfully sweet to me,” he said to the guard.

The guard reached the package of cigarettes back across the aisle.

“Have one,” my father said.

“No thanks. I’m chewing.”

“Making a long trip?”

“Chicago.”

“So are we.”

“It’s a fine town,” the little man next to the window said. “I was there once.”

“I’ll say you were,” the guard said. “I’ll say you were.”

We moved up and sat in the seat directly opposite them. The guard in front looked around. The man with him looked down at the floor.

“What’s the trouble,” asked my father.

“These gentlemen are wanted for murder.”

The man next