Early next morning the brakeman made us a visit and said we would be in Sparks before noon, where we must make another change.
Just outside the city limits we dropped off, and as guests of the trainmen were soon eating our first restaurant meal for months. About two o’clock we wandered to the outskirts of town, for it was useless to attempt to catch a freight in daylight. We came to an irrigating ditch lined with a tall growth of weeds, and slipping off our footgear, were soon paddling about like a couple of kids in the swift running water. Late in the day we cooked and ate a meal, took a farewell wash in the stream and returned to the railroad yard. Word had gone forth not to molest us, so we boarded the night freight without difficulty. The only available place was a cattle car loaded high with lumber. The end door was unlocked and there was quite a space between the piles of boards and the roof of the car. I settled myself in a corner with back against the siding, and Dan lay at my feet.
It was pitch dark when the train clanked through the streets of Reno. As we drew slowly out of town, dim forms appeared, and hoboes began piling into the car through both doors. In the darkness I could sense the presence of a large number of men. Two lads curled down at my right, their voices proclaiming their youthfulness. On the left two hoboes lay so close that I could have touched them. They had come from a long ride on a limited passenger and were completely exhausted. A group of men in the far end of the car began smoking, and as each match flared, some face would stand out in bold relief. They talked with perfect comradeship, and though they were totally unaware of the presence of a woman, there was little to complain of in their conversation. In fact, I can truthfully say that I heard more profane language in one year’s attendance at Medical College than on this entire trip.
At the first stop out of Reno still more men came aboard. A trainman came to the far door with a lantern, but one look sufficed and he returned no more. At Truckee the car was switched to a siding.
“Beat it, boys, here come the bulls!” shouted a hobo.
Like dry peas out of a pod, the hoboes scattered out of that car and fled in all directions as officers flung open the door at our side and emptied their revolvers into the interior. We remained motionless as the bullets thudded into the wood, and in a few minutes looked out to see the detectives chasing the fleeing hoboes across the yards.