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herself smile. She couldn’t believe it, either.
    â€œAin’t nothing,” Ned replied. “Good luck to you and all the other Wanderville citizens,” he said. He looked over at Frances. “Too bad you won’t be down near Sherwood to see what I left there. But if you get to California, you won’t need it anyways.”
    Frances felt an odd little shiver at the mention of the treasure. She was glad she’d written down the hobo’s instructions.
Who knows?
she thought.
Maybe someday . . .
    Ned interrupted her reverie. “In about five seconds, there’s your spot to jump!” he said, pointing to a stretch of gravel by the rail yard fence.
    Since it took Frances about five seconds to say, “Thank you, A-Number-One Nickel Ned Handsome!” her jump was perfectly timed, and she hardly stumbled when she hit the ground. A moment later, Alexander, with Harold riding piggyback, leaped and landed safely, much to her relief.
    The spot where Frances stood wasn’t far from where the other kids had jumped from the first train, and now they were all running over to see her and the boys. Jack was the first to reach her, and he shook his head in amazement—or perhaps, Frances suspected, relief.
    â€œWell, if it isn’t Gizzard, the Pennsylvania Kid, and Little Tomato Can!” he said, smiling wide. “Glad you decided to join us after all.”

    Now all they had to do was find the right train. But navigating the Kansas City rail yard turned out to be harder than Frances had thought it would be.
    â€œWhat’s the name of the train Ned told us to catch again?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s the . . .” Jack shut his eyes as if to better remember. “It’s the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe,” he answered. “Uh . . . right?” He didn’t seem too sure.
    â€œWait,” said Alexander. “Is that all
one
train? Or three different trains?”
    â€œOf course it’s one train!” Jack looked at Frances. “Isn’t it?”
    Frances gazed out over the many crisscrossing sets of tracks at the dark, hulking train cars that slid by. She strained her eyes to read the letters painted on the sides, willing the right name to appear. But she could only make out a few words here and there—
Chicago
,
Alton
. Were those the names of the trains or of their destinations? Meanwhile, the sky still held the last of the daylight, but everything else seemed to be rapidly fading into dusk.
    Sarah spoke up, her voice wary. “It’s getting dark. What should we do?”
    â€œMaybe we should wait until morning to hop a train,” Jack suggested.
    â€œAnd risk getting caught here?” Alexander said. “Where will we go for the night?”
    Frances peered out at the city block beyond the rail yard fence. There were lamps glowing in some of the businesses, though the windows were grimy and the lights hardly looked welcoming; one of the places appeared to be a saloon.
    â€œWe shouldn’t go too far,” she said to Alexander. “But Jack’s right. We should wait till morning, when we can know if we’re on the right train. Let’s find someplace nearby to sleep.” Frances noticed just then that Harold was rubbing his eyes, and George looked tired, too. It had been a long day, she realized, and she suddenly felt foggy with exhaustion. Had it been just that morning that they’d been in Wanderville?
    Anka and Nicky spotted a little toolshed in an alley just beyond the fence.
    There was no door, but the floor was dry and, if some of the kids sat upright and leaned against the walls, there was just enough space for all of them to sleep. Which is what Frances did, with Harold curled up against her.
    â€œFrannie?” Harold whispered, looking up at the cobwebbed ceiling of the shed. “Can we find a better house tomorrow for all of us?”
    Frances sighed and stroked his