The conductor proceeded to ply us with the usual questions, which we answered to his entire satisfaction.
“There’s an empty refrigerator car up ahead,” he declared, “that is billed straight through to Sacto. She’s locked all right, but the ventilator in one of the ice chests is sealed open, and you can slide in there and lie snug till you land in Sacramento.”
Swallowing the last drops of coffee, we followed him over the tops to the fruit car. Sure enough, the little door that covered the hatch at the end of the car stood open, the support bound with the lead seal, which must never be broken except by the proper officials.
Gathering my skirts closely about my ankles, I slid into the opening feet first, and catching the edges with my hands, swung inside the ice chest and let go. Dan followed, and we found ourselves in peculiar surroundings. The floor of the cubby-hole was formed of scantlings laid on their edges, with wide interstices for drainage. There was scarcely room to move and the only light entered the little opening high above our heads. As I gazed upward, I felt caught in a trap. We curled down on the grating and resigned ourselves to fate.
As the sun climbed the sky the heat increased, and it was then that we noticed that our canteen was empty. Nobody came near. We dared not show ourselves. So the day passed in great discomfort. Night fell and we slept fitfully. Morning came and again the sun blazed down on the desert wastes and the tortures of thirst became intense.
We had been twenty-four hours without food or water when Dan decided to risk a reconnoitre. Taking the canteen, he swung himself up to the hatch and thrust out his head and shoulders. A brakeman came on the run. After considerable parley he took the canteen and promised to fetch us water at the first stop. But the afternoon wore away and he failed to appear. We were almost insane from thirst and heat when at last he lowered the dripping canteen into our prison.
In Winnemucca the car was shunted back and forth for an hour, but at nightfall we were off on the long climb to the summit. I climbed hand over hand to the hatchway, and after a cautious survey of the surroundings, drew myself out and perched on the roof of the car. The Overland Limited shot past, the roof covered with the crouching forms of hoboes, thick as barnacles on an old pier. The desolate expanse of desert seemed full of mystery, as the long train, dotted here and there with lanterns, crawled like a gigantic snake up the steep grade. Far ahead two engines coughed and laboured, the black smoke rolling in great billows from their stacks. As I realised that we were nearing the boundary of California a great contentment filled my soul. Thus I revelled in thoughts of home, while the cool night wind fanned my face and the Big Dipper swung across the northern sky and the speeding wheels clanked a cheerful refrain.