He
plunged forward alone, not conscious that he was outdistancing his late
companion.
Reaching the tracks, Bart ran down a line of freights. The express shed
was in view at last. It was lighted up as usual, the door stood open,
and nothing suggested anything out of the ordinary.
"The fellow's cracked," reflected Bart. "Everything looks straight
here--no, it doesn't!" He checked himself abruptly. "Here! what are you
at?"
Sharp and clear Bart sang out. Approaching the express shed from the
side, his glance shifted to the rear.
The little structure had one window there, lightly barred with metal
strips. Two men stood on the platform beneath it. One of them had just
pried a strip loose with some long implement he held in his hand. The
other had just pushed up the sash by reaching through the convenient
aperture thus made.
Bart bounded to the platform with a nimble spring. As his feet clamped
down warningly on the boardway, the man who had pushed up the window
turned sharply.
"It's young Stirling!" Bart heard him mutter. "Drop it, and run."
The speaker sprang to the ground and disappeared around the corner of
the shed with the words.
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