In
this position he hung a helpless weight, with the hoarse roar of the
engine making anything but sweet music to his fainting soul.
Ha! Look! A hand is outstretched to save at the last moment, and Dyke
Darrel is jerked from under the smoking wheels, even as their breath
fans his fevered cheek.
The train swept on.
A cheer greeted the man who had come opportunely to the rescue as the
engine swept on its course.
And a little later a man, young, yet whose boyish face bore marks of
dissipation, stood beside the detective and gazed into his face now
for the first time.
"Great Caesar!"
The young man started as though cut by a knife, and bent low over the
fallen detective, who was now struggling to a sitting posture.
When he looked into the face of his rescuer he uttered a great cry.
"My soul! how came you here, Martin Skidway?"
"I am a fugitive," answered the young convict. "It wasn't through your
good will that I got out of prison, I can tell you that. Had I known
who it was on the track, I might not have put out my hand to save."
The detective regarded the speaker in no little amazement. This was
the second time he had escaped from the Missouri prison, which argued
well for the man's keenness and capability, or else ill for the
official management of the prison.
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