Twenty-one was a freight. It was a relief to have that off the road for the emergency. He lay back when the striking at his head had ceased. It was unfortunate that Joe and he alone should be employed at the tower. Relieving each other at regular intervals, they had never been at the house together. Either Tolliver had been there alone with his wife and his son--or Joe had been. The two men had seen each other too little, only momentarily in this busy room. They didn't really know each other. "LR. LR. LR." Tolliver shook his head savagely. It had been a mistake letting Joe board with them at all. Any man would fall in love with Sally. Yet Tolliver had thought after that definite quarrel Joe would have known his place; the danger would have ended. It was probably this drinking at the country inn where Joe lived now that had made the man brood. The inn was too small and removed to attract the revenue officers, and the liquid manufactured and sold there was designed to make a man daring, irrational, deadly. Tolliver shrank from the assaults of the sounder. Where was Joe now? At the inn, drinking; or---- He jotted down the outpourings of the voluble key. More and more it became clear that the special and thirty-three would meet near his tower, but it would almost certainly be after midnight when Joe would have relieved him. He watched the clock, often pressing his fingers against his temples in an attempt to make bearable the hammering at his brain, unequal and persistent. While the hands crawled towards midnight the wind increased, shrieking around the tower as if the pounding angered it. Above the shaking of the windows Tolliver caught another sound, gentle and disturbing, as if countless fingers tapped softly, simultaneously against the panes. He arose and raised one of the sashes. The wind tore triumphantly in, bearing a quantity of snowflakes that fluttered to the floor, expiring. Under his breath Tolliver swore. He leaned out, peering through the storm. The red and green signal lamps were blurred. He shrugged his shoulders. Anyway, Joe would relieve him before the final orders came, before either train was in the section. Tolliver clenched his hands. If Joe didn't come! He shrank from the force of his imagination. He was glad Sally had the revolver. He glanced at his watch, half believing that the clock had stopped. There at last it was, both hands pointing straight up--midnight! And Tolliver heard only the storm and the unbearable strokes of the telegraph sounder. It was fairly definite now. Both trains were roaring through the storm, destined almost certainly to slip by each other at this siding within the next hour. Where was Joe? And Sally and the boy alone at the house! Quarter past twelve. What vast interest could have made Joe forget his relief at the probable loss of his job?