They stood on the heathery slope above the old yard, straining their eyes. Soon they could make out dim shapes. Yes, it was the railway yard all right.

Jock clutched Julian’s sleeve. “Look — there’s a light down there! Do you see it?”

The boys looked — and, sure enough, down in the yard towards the other side of it, was a small yellow light. They stared at it.

“Oh — I think I know what it is,” said Dick, at last. “It’s the light in the watchman’s little hut — old Wooden-Leg Sam’s candle. Don’t you think so, Ju?”

“Yes. You’re right,” said Julian. “I tell you what we’ll do — we’ll creep right down into the yard, and go over to the hut. We’ll peep inside and see if old Sam is there. Then we’ll hide somewhere about — and wait for the spook-train to come!”

They crept down the slope. Their eyes had got used to the starlight by now, and they were beginning to see fairly well. They got right down to the yard, where their feet made a noise on some cinders there.

They stopped. “Someone will hear us if we make a row like this,” whispered Julian.

“Who will?” whispered back Dick. “There’s no one here except old Sam in his hut!”

“How do you know there isn’t?” said Julian. “Good heavens, Jock, don’t make such a row with your feet!”

They stood there, debating what was the best thing to do. “We’d better walk right round the edge of the yard,” said Julian at once. “As far as I remember, the grass has grown there. We’ll walk on that.”

So they made their way to the edge of the yard. Sure enough, there was grass there, and they walked on it without a sound. They went slowly and softly to where the light shone dimly in Sam’s little hut.

The window was high and small. It was just about at the level of their heads, and the three boys cautiously eased themselves along to it and looked in.

Wooden-Leg Sam was there. He sat sprawled in a chair, smoking a pipe. He was reading a newspaper, squinting painfully as he did so. He obviously had not had his “bruck” glasses mended yet. On a chair beside him was his wooden leg. He had unstrapped it, and there it lay.

“He’s not expecting the spook-train to-night, or he wouldn’t have taken off his wooden leg,” whispered Dick.

The candlelight flickered and shadows jumped about the tiny hut. It was a poor, ill-furnished little place, dirty and untidy. A cup without saucer or handle stood on the table, and a tin kettle boiled on a rusty stove.

Sam put down his paper and rubbed his eyes. He muttered something. The boys could not hear it, but they felt certain it was something about his “bruck” glasses.

“Are there many lines in this yard?” whispered Jock, tired of looking in at old Sam. “Where do they go to?”