"Dear God--two years!" she gasped, with a quick little sob; and then she became my brave little girl again. "They will pass, Jimmie, dear, and they won't seem so terribly long when we remember what we are waiting for. I'm going with you, you know--as far as they'll let me; and when things look their blackest you must remember that I'm only just a little way off; just a little way--and waiting--and waiting----" She broke down at the last and cried in my arms, and when she could find her voice again: "It mustn't be two years, Jimmie; it would kill you, and me, too. They _must_ pardon you--you who have done no wrong! I'll go down on my knees to the Governor, and----" There was something in this to send the blood tingling to my finger-tips; to rouse the final reserves of manhood. "Never!" I forbade. "You must never do that, Polly; and you mustn't let Barrett stir hand or foot in that direction. I shall come out an ex-convict, if I have to, but never as a pardoned man with the presumption of guilt fastened upon me for the remainder of my life. Promise me that you won't do anything like that!" I don't know whether she promised or not. Cummings was stirring uneasily in his window and looking at his watch. I led Polly to the door, kissed her, and put her out into the corridor. The agony, the keenest agony of all, was over, and I turned to the deputy warden. "Whenever you are ready," I said. Barrett was at the train when we went down, as I was sure he would be, and he seemed strangely excited. "Give me just a minute with your prisoner, Mr. Cummings," he begged; and after the deputy warden had amiably turned his back: "I've just had a telegram from Gifford. The Lawrenceburg lawyers are offering to compromise. They say that their owners are tired of dragging the quarrel through the courts, and they offer to buy us out, lock, stock and barrel, for five million dollars." "After they've committed every crime in the calendar to smash us? Not for a single minute!" I exploded. "Right you are, Jimmie!--I knew you'd be with me!" he agreed defiantly. "We'll fight 'em till the last dog's too dead to bury. There's a hole in the bottom of the sea, somewhere, and we'll find it before we're through with that piratical outfit. Here's your conductor: you'll have to go. Polly will follow you in a day or two. I had a handful of it keeping her from going on this train; but, of course, that wouldn't do. Put a good, stiff bone in your back, and remember that we shan't let up, day or night--any of us--until you're free again. Good-by, old man, and God help you!" XXIII Skies of Brass