The Best Short Stories of 1920, and the Yearbook of the American Short Story. Various

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      "Special!" Joe mumbled. "And—Hell! Ain't thirty-three through yet?"

      He swayed, snatching at the edge of the table.

      Tolliver lowered his hands. The division superintendent had pounded out something about fuses. What had it been exactly? "Keep fuses burning."

      With angry gestures he took his coat and cap down, and put them on while he repeated all the instructions that had been forced into his brain with the effect of a physical violence. At the table Joe continued to fumble aimlessly.

      "Ain't you listening?" Tolliver blurted out.

      "Huh?"

      "Why don't you light a fuse?"

      It was quite obvious that Joe had heard nothing.

      "Fuse!" Joe repeated.

      He stooped to a box beneath the table. He appeared to lose his balance. He sat on the floor with his back against the wall, his head drooping.

      "What about fuse?" he murmured.

      His eyes closed.

      Tolliver pressed the backs of his hands against his face. If only his suspense might force refreshing tears as Sonny cried away his infant agonies!

      Numerous people asleep in that long Pullman train, and the special thundering down! Sally and Sonny a half mile away in the lonely house! And that drink-inspired creature on the floor—what was he capable of in relation to those unknown, helpless travelers? But what was he capable of; what had he, perhaps, been capable of towards those two known ones that Tolliver loved better than all the world?

      Tolliver shuddered. As long as Joe was here Sally and Sonny would not be troubled. But where had Joe been just now? How had Sally and Sonny fared while Tolliver had waited for that stumbling step on the stairs? He had to know that, yet how could he? For he couldn't leave Joe to care for all those lives on the special and thirty-three.

      He removed his coat and cap, and replaced them on the hook. He took a fuse from the box and lighted it. He raised the window and threw the fuse to the track beneath. It sputtered and burst into a flame, ruddy, gorgeous, immense. It etched from the night distant fences and trees. It bent the sparkling rails until they seemed to touch at the terminals of crimson vistas. If in the storm the locomotive drivers should miss the switch lamps, set against them, they couldn't neglect this bland banner of danger, flung across the night.

      When Tolliver closed the window he noticed that the ruddy glow filled the room, rendering sickly and powerless the yellow lamp wicks. And Tolliver clutched the table edge, for in this singular and penetrating illumination he saw that Joe imitated the details of sleep; that beneath half-closed lids, lurked a fanatical wakefulness, and final resolution where, on entering the tower, he had exposed only indecision.

      While Tolliver stared Joe abandoned his masquerade. Wide-eyed, he got lightly to his feet and started for the trap.

      Instinctively, Tolliver's hand started for the drawer where customarily the revolver was kept. Then he remembered, and was sorry he had sent the revolver to Sally. For it was clear that the poison in Joe's brain was sending him to the house while Tolliver was chained to the tower. He would have shot, he would have killed, to have kept the man here. He would do what he could with his hands.

      "Where you going?" he asked hoarsely.

      Joe laughed happily.

      "To keep Sally company while you look after the special and thirty-three."

      Tolliver advanced cautiously, watching for a chance. When he spoke his voice had the appealing quality of a child's.

      "It's my time off. If I do your work you got to stay at least."

      Joe laughed again.

      "No. It only needs you to keep all those people from getting killed."

      Tolliver sprang then, but Joe avoided the heavier, clumsier man. He grasped a chair, swinging it over his head.

      "I'll teach you," he grunted, "to kick me out like dirt. I'll teach you and Sally."

      With violent strength he brought the chair down. Tolliver got his hands up, but the light chair crashed them aside and splintered on his head. He fell to his knees, reaching out blindly. He swayed lower until he lay stretched on the floor, dimly aware of Joe's descending steps, of the slamming of the lower door, at last of a vicious pounding at his bruised brain.

      "NT. NT. NT."

      He struggled to his knees, his hands at his head.

      "No, by God! I won't listen to you."

      "Thirty-three cleared LR at 12:47."

      One tower north! Thirty-three was coming down on him, but he was only glad that the pounding had ceased. It commenced again.

      "NT. NT. NT. Special cleared JV at 12:48."

      Each rushing towards each other with only a minute's difference in schedule! That was close—too close. But what was it he had in his mind?

      Suddenly he screamed. He lurched to his feet and leant against the wall. He knew now. Joe, with those infused and criminal eyes, had gone to Sally and Sonny—to get even. There could be nothing in the world as important as that. He must get after Joe. He must stop him in time.

      "NT. NT. NT."

      There was something in his brain about stopping a train in time.

      "It only needs you to keep all those people from getting killed."

      Somebody had told him that. What did it mean? What had altered here in the tower all at once?

      There was no longer any red.

      "NT. NT. NT."

      "I won't answer."

      Where had he put his cap and coat. He needed them. He could go without. He could kill a beast without. His foot trembled on the first step.

      "NT. NT. NT. Why don't you answer? What's wrong. No O. K. Are you burning fuses? Wake up. Send an O. K."

      The sounder crashed frantically. It conquered him.

      He lurched to the table, touched the key, and stuttered out:

      "O. K. NT."

      He laughed a little. They were in his block, rushing at each other, and Joe was alone at 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 СКАЧАТЬ