the house with Sally and the child. O. K.!

He lighted another fuse, flung it from the window, and started with
automatic movements for the trap.

Let them crash. Let them splinter, and burn, and die. What was the lot
of them compared with Sally and Sonny?

The red glare from the fuse sprang into the room. Tolliver paused,
bathed in blood.

He closed his eyes to shut out the heavy waves of it. He saw women like
Sally and children like Sonny asleep in a train. It gave him an
impression that Sally and Sonny were, indeed, on the train. To keep them
safe it would be necessary to retard the special until thirty-three
should be on the siding and he could throw that lever that would close
the switch and make the line safe. He wavered, taking short steps
between the table and the trap. Where were Sally and Sonny? He had to
get that clear in his mind.

A bitter cold sprang up the trap. He heard the sobbing of a child.

"Sonny!"

It was becoming clear enough now.

The child crawled up the steps on his hands and knees. Tolliver took him
in his arms, straining at him passionately.

"What is it, Sonny? Where's mama?"

"Papa, come quick. Come quick."

He kept gasping it out until Tolliver stopped him.

"Joe! Did Joe come?"

The child nodded. He caught his breath.

"Joe broke down the door," he said.

"But mama had the gun," Tolliver said hoarsely.

The boy shook his head.

"Mama wouldn't let Sonny play with it. She locked it up in the cupboard.
Joe grabbed mama, and she screamed, and said to run and make you come."

In the tower, partially smothered by the storm, vibrated a shrill cry.
For a moment Tolliver thought his wife's martyrdom had been projected to
him by some subtle means. Then he knew it was the anxious voice of
thirty-three--the pleading of all those unconscious men and women and
little ones. He flung up his arms, releasing the child, and ran to the
table where he lighted another fuse, and threw it to the track. He
peered from the window, aware of the sobbing refrain of his son.

"Come quick! Come quick! Come quick!"

From far to the south drifted a fainter sibilation, like an echo of
thirty-three's whistle. To the north a glow increased. The snowflakes
there glistened like descending jewels. It was cutting it too close. It
was vicious to crush all that responsibility on the shoulders of one
ignorant man, such a man as himself, or Joe. What good would it do him
to kill Joe now? What was there le