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As Stanley rose from his midnight meal, Atkinson ran in with word that a band of rioters, well armed, had attacked a train of boarding-cars defended by the roundhouse men. The sky, bright again with the flame of conflagration, made a huge dome of red, lighting the railroad yards across which men were now hurrying to make fresh dispositions for the emergency.
"Help, help!" he cried. "Tramps! Tramps! Help!" From the boarding-cars broke out a hubbub of excitement. "Tramps! Tramps!" he shrilled, scuttling beneath the third train. On the other side he suddenly pulled up. He had forgotten his outlandish appearance! What if Men sprang into view from between the cars farther down. "Here he is!" they shouted, instantly heading for him. "It's me!
Over the tops of the cars in the direction of the track-machine was a dancing glare. In alarm Alex joined the stream of men dropping to the ground all along the boarding-cars. Dodging through the intervening trains, he brought up with an expression of relief beside, not the track-machine, but a car of bridge material.
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