“Get outa here,” he said, brandishing it. She didn’t argue. But no sooner had she moved toward the open door of the boxcar than a heavy jerk on the couplings threw her backward, and the train started to roll. “I said get out. No women.” “Get out yourself,” she snapped. She was tired of being hounded and bullied and robbed, entirely by males. The train huffed and the wheels rolled. The hobo’s alert gaze altered slightly, but he kept the wicked knife in his hand. “No women,” he said again. “Go find another car,” she snapped. The train was lumbering along now, swinging out of Helena. She was stuck with a tramp who looked ready to kill her and had a half hour to do the job. “Get out. Find another car, or I’ll knock you out of here,” she said, wondering where that erupted from. He didn’t get out, but after a bit he slid the knife into a sheath hidden at his waist. His gaze never left her. She knew somehow she was safe for the moment, but things might change at any time.
