"I shall not give you the letter."
"Refuse at your peril. What do you think will happen when you are arrested and Major Hockoday's letter gets in the hands of his enemies. He will shoot you at sight for betraying him."
"How do I know you tell the truth?" asked the captain, visibly weakening.
"How did I know about the letter of Major Hockoday, if he had not sent me?" retorted Fred.
The captain grasped at the last straw. "To whom am I to deliver this letter?" he asked. He was in hopes that Fred could not answer.
"Tompkins," answered Fred, trembling, thinking his answer might be wrong.
The captain was convinced, yet sat silent and undecided. He glanced back; the men were still looking at him. He shivered, and then slyly slipped the letter into Fred's hand. The train stopped, and the captain arose and went forward as for a drink of water. At the door he hesitated as if still undecided. Fred's heart beat fast. Would he fail after all. No, he would jump from the train himself first. The bell rang for the train to start, and the captain turned as if to come back, at the same time glancing at the two gentlemen in the rear of the car. The detective-looking individual had arisen to his feet, and was reaching for his hip pocket.
Captain Conway waited to see no more; he turned, bolted from the car, and plunged from the now moving train into the darkness.
The detective-looking gentleman drew a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his perspiring face, and sat down again. On such little incidents do great events sometimes depend.
Fred drew a long breath. He had taken desperate chances, and won. For a moment he felt exultant, and then his face grew serious. He had always been the soul of truth and honor. "And now," he thought, bitterly, "I have been lying like a pirate." Had he done right? He hardly knew, and the wheels of the cars seemed to say, as they rattled along, "You are a liar, you are a liar," over and over again, until he leaned his head on the seat in front of him, and his tears fell thick and fast.