THE LAST OF THE DANITES.
Even as he looks, hope comes, for he sees the glow of one of the locomotives on the Y, and knows that its fires are still banked—it has a little steam; and he remembers, the line is clear of trains to Green River.
Then he whispers suddenly to Buck, who says: "I understand!" and goes cautiously away, while Lawrence struggles through the snow-drifts to the helping locomotive, the one nearest the switch that leads to the main track running to the East.
The engineer, who is a careful man, and has a pride in his machine, is still with his engine, and Harry is delighted to see he is the one whose heart Erma has won by kindness to his child.
"I was rubbing her up a little, Cap," he says. "I want to be sure she's all ready for to-morrow's work."
"Is she ready for to-night's work?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," answers Lawrence, who has looked the man over, and concludes it is better to lie to him than to argue with him, "that there are road agents on the train."
For a moment the man looks at him in unbelief, then there is a little noise and commotion about the sleepers, and he cries: "My God! my child!"
"Your child is safe. Buck is bringing her over!" says Harry, pointing at the figure of the boy, half leading, half carrying the little girl through the snow. "Any way," he goes on, "they would have done nothing to her; it's the other one they want, the heiress!"