Clothes were the first problem, any kind of rags to cover our jail uniforms. I got out of the car with the half-dead China boy at once, and went directly back to the caboose on the train we rode. The conductor and brakeman were already gone. The caboose was deserted. The boy hid between boxcars while I went to the top of the caboose, through the cupola, and down inside. In a locker were greasy coats and pants, and a cap for the Chink. The clothes were too big for him and the cap too small. He knew Vancouver and wanted to take me to his “cousins” in Chinatown, but I was afraid we couldn’t get by a copper together, so he struck out alone after making me promise to hunt him up at his company’s headquarters. I crawled into an empty car to wait for daylight, when it would be safer to go through the streets.