Swindled!: The 1906 Journal of Fitz Morgan (15 page)

“Help will be here in a moment Judge,” I told her, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me. “I’m going to let the outside
world know we’re in trouble.”

I ran out the rear door and onto the connecting platform between the Pinkerton and the government Pullmans. Leaping over the
side, I tumbled down a grassy slope. Then I was racing away from the train, searching desperately for a telegraph box.

The moon seemed to follow me, casting a sinister light that flickered as it passed through puffs of clouds. I couldn’t shake
the feeling that something other than the moon was pursuing me.

As I sprinted along the track, I stole glances to my left at the lonely, dark landscape. The only signs of life were several
tall trees whose twisted branches stood out against the night sky.

My foot slipped on some loose rocks and I nearly stumbled. But I kept my balance and continued rushing headlong through the
darkness. Relax, I told myself, trying to calm down. It won’t do Judge or yourself any good if you trip and break your leg.

I had only been running for a short time when I spotted a rectangular shape the size of a small medicine cabinet. Bolted to
a pole about four feet from the ground was a telegraph box!

If I had time, I would have hugged the wooden box. But my excitement was quickly deflated. The box was locked. No! I wanted
to wail. I’ve come too far to be stopped by some lock that probably cost only a few pennies.

I looked around for a large rock. When I finally found one, I hefted it into the air and, with one swift motion, brought it
down on the lock. The lock stayed put, but the hook it was attached to snapped in two. The lock fell to the ground, and the
door of the box swung open.

I breathed a sigh of relief and imagined I could hear Judge say, “Bully for you!”

The telegraph device itself was easy enough to use. Just press down on the metal transmitter bar and send out the message.

I started to telegraph my call for help:

Continental Express in trouble. Stop.

Dangerous criminal on board. Stop. Alert

authorities. Stop. Current location is

That’s as far as I got when I heard–
Snap!

I looked up and cried out in frustration. The wire that was used to connect the telegraph box to the line above was now blowing
loose in the breeze, hitting the back of the box with a mocking sound.

I’d been tapping out a message to no one.

A feeling of dread suddenly gripped me. I knew I had to find another telegraph box. And that meant I had to stumble farther
away from the train into the darkness.

I gazed back toward the train with longing. It remained at a standstill about a hundred yards away. Warm squares of light
spilled from its windows, making it appear as friendly and inviting as hot chocolate on a snowy day. But looks can be deceiving,
I reminded myself.

Toughen up, Fitz, and get moving.

Before I could do anything, though, the moon emerged from behind the clouds and cast my shadow on the rocky ground along the
tracks.

I gasped.

Next to mine there was another shadow. Someone was right behind me!

I bit back the urge to scream and slowly turned around.

Out of the darkness emerged a pale face. A face with a strange birthmark under the right eye. A mark rather like the shape
of Asia.

I rubbed my eyes, thinking the vision would disappear, but the figure remained. It was Killian.

My brother!

He was reaching one hand out to me.

It can’t be you! You’re dead! I wanted to shout. But my tongue was frozen.

My head swam. I felt my knees give way. And then I fainted.

When I woke up, I was on the train.
The side of my head ached. It took me a minute to focus my thoughts. Of course. I must have hit my head on the ground when
I fainted. I tried to rub it, but I couldn’t.

I was sitting in a chair in the Pinkerton’s laboratory, about two feet away from the door to the compartment. My arms and
legs were tied with rope. There was a knot at my wrists, one at my ankles, and two more holding my back and lower legs to
the chair.

The train rocked. We were moving again.

I opened my mouth to call for help, but then I thought better of it. What if the person who had tied me up was in the next
compartment? Shouting out would alert him or her that I was awake.

The rope bit into my skin, and the knots tightened as I struggled against them.

Above it all, a thought pounded rhythmically in my head like a driving piston: Killian is alive! Killian is alive!

It had not been a dream. I had seen him. But what was he doing on this train?

And Judge! Where was she? Was she safe?

If I was going to answer any of these questions, I had to escape these ropes! With as much energy as I could muster, I arched
my back, pushing up and away from the back of the chair. But the rope refused to give.

Then I remembered my detective training: The more you struggle, the more the knots will tighten!

Thank goodness I kept this tip!

My eyes ran over the knots holding me captive. They looked like square knots. I desperately hoped I was right. If I started
pulling on the wrong part of a knot, I could make matters worse.

Slowly I worked my hands back and forth, sliding the knot that held them up so it rested on my forearms. This freed my hands
slightly, and my fingers were able to reach the knot. I was tempted to move quickly but knew jerking motions might only tighten
the knot more.

“Don’t panic,” I told myself. “You have to take your time.”

Click.

I heard the sound of a key entering the lock on the other side of the door. My eyes went to the brass doorknob.

My body’s instincts screamed for me to thrash even harder against the ropes. But I forced myself to stay calm.

Focus your thoughts! Slow movement is the only way!

I heard the key turning in the lock. The doorknob started to turn–steady, steady.

I used my fingers to pull on one side of the knot, and my teeth to pull on the other. The square knot united. My hands slipped
free! I started untying the knots that held my legs in place–

The door opened–just as I managed to climb to my feet, feeling woozy as the blood rushed to my head and darkened my vision.
When my sight cleared a second later, I went into my defensive stance.

I was looking at the grim face of one of the top suspects. It was William Henry!

But when he opened his mouth to speak, he didn’t let out an evil laugh like some criminal mastermind. Instead, he said, “You’re
awake. Thank goodness.”