"
Leslie Branch shook his head mournfully. "You may enjoy it, but I
don't," he grumbled. "We'll end by being pinched, and that will
finish me. One week in a damp cell, with my lungs--"
O'Reilly, whose spirits had risen magically, clapped him heartily
on the back, crying: "Congratulations! You're feeling better."
"I never felt worse!" the other complained.
"Nonsense! That's the first kick you've made since we hit cold
weather. By the time we reach Cuba you'll be nice and melancholy
and your cough will be all gone."
Ramos led his three charges to the railroad station and into the
rear coach of a south-bound train, where the other members of the
expedition had already found seats. As they climbed aboard, a
Secret Service agent essayed to follow them, but he was stopped by
a brakeman, who said:
"You can't ride in here; this is a special car. Some sort of a
picnic party. They're 'wops' or Greeks or something."
Other detectives who attempted to invade the privacy of that rear
coach after the train had gotten under way were also denied.
Meanwhile, the filibusters cast restraint aside, and for the first
time intermingled freely.
Evening came, then night, and still the party was jerked along at
the tail of the train without a hint as to its destination. About
midnight those who were not dozing noted that they had stopped at
an obscure pine-woods junction, and that when the train got under
way once more their own car did not move.
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