I trudged home by myself, worrying about the trestle. What was I supposed to do...

I trudged home by myself, worrying about the trestle. What was I supposed to do there? If Andrew had dreamed it up, it was sure to be terrible. Maybe I'd have to lie down between the rails and let the train run over me. Boys did that in stories, but I wasn't sure it worked in real life. It seemed to me you'd be gouged to death by things hanging from the bottoms of boxcars.
I thought a little longer. Maybe it had something to do with explosives. Andrew had blown up an outhouse once--he might want to dynamite a whole train.
I kicked a stone so hard I almost broke my toe. There was no way of guessing what went on in Andrew's fiendish mind.