away at the point of his bayonet.

"I'm a passenger," explained Billie.

"Go away!" was the reply, emphasized by a quick advance of the
bayonet.

Seeing that it was no time to argue, Billie slid back into the
darkness.

CHAPTER VIII.

TREACHERY FOILED.

Broncho Billie had been in too many unpleasant places to be at
all worried over his predicament, but he was much concerned about
the condition of the train and its passengers, practically all of
whom were Americans and a large majority of whom were women and
children.

"It would be fierce," he mused, "to have them held here, or in a
detention camp as prisoners; and it would be worse if we should
be attacked by an overwhelming force of revolutionists. I've just
got to know the truth."

He glanced up at the coach with its dimly lighted windows.

"I wish I could talk to old Don. He most always knows what to do.
But how can I get at him?"

He sneaked out to where he could see the coach platform. The
guard was still there, as well as the guard on the other car.

"Worse and more of it," he exclaimed.

Then he examined the car, trying to determine at which window he
had been seated. Several were open, and he determined to try and
speak to some one.

"Our seats are not far from here," he thought as he stopped under
the second one. "I'll try this."

He picked up a stone about as big as an egg and tossed it into
the window. A howl from a child followed the act and Billie
ducked under the car. He could hear the mother pacifying it, but
evidently she, too, had been asleep and had not discovered the
stone.

"I think I know just which child it is," said Billie with a grin,
"and this next open window must be ours."

He picked up another stone and tossed it in to his second choice,
this time with better results.

Donald had just aroused from a nap, and, missing Billie, was
looking for him. Not seeing him in the car, he was about to look
out of the window when the stone hit him on the chin.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed as he started back.

Billie heard the exclamation and gave the familiar whistle.

Donald was on the alert in an instant. Looking up and down the
car to be sure he was not being watched, he stuck his head out of
the window.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Trouble," was Billie's laconic reply. "Come out."

"How can I? The guard is at the door."

"Jump out of the window."

"They might see me."

Billie thought fast.

"Let Ad stand between y