“I can—I will!” And Dan swore under his breath. He realized that no word of his could move his father. He would carry his point, just as he always had.
Durks came running along the platform from the dépôt.
“It's no use,” shaking his head. “The wire's down. Say, you want to keep your eyes open for the freight. It may be on the siding at Parker's Run, and it may be on the main track.”
Dan made a last appeal to his father.
“Won't you listen to what I say?” sinking his voice to a hoarse whisper. “They'll hang you—do you hear? If ever they lay hands on you they will show no mercy!” It did not occur to him that his father would be returning under circumstances so exceptional that public sentiment might well undergo a radical change in his favor.
Roger Oakley merely smiled as he answered, with gentle composure: “I don't think we need to worry about that. We are in His hands, Dannie,” and he raised his face to the heavens.
Dan groaned.
“Come, then,” he said aloud.
“I'll throw the switch for you!” and the operator ran down the track. He was quite positive he should never see Oakley again, and he felt something akin to enthusiasm at the willing sacrifice of his life which he conceived him to be making.
Father and son stepped to the engine. The old convict mounted heavily to his post, and Dan sprang after him, his hand groping for the throttle lever. There was the hiss of steam, and Joe cried from the darkness: