WHEN Roger Oakley appeared on the platform at Buckhom Junction, Durks started violently, while Dan took a quick step forward and placed a warning hand on the old convict's arm. He feared what he might say. Then he said to the operator: “He'll do. Go see if you can get Antioch. Try just once more. If you succeed, tell them the engines and hose will be there within an hour, or they need not look for them. Do you understand?” “All right, Mr. Oakley.” And Durks moved up the platform with alacrity. He was relieved of one irksome responsibility. He had his own theories as to who the stranger was, but he told himself it was none of his business. As soon as he was out of hearing, Dan turned to his father, and said, earnestly: “Look here, daddy, I can't allow you to do it. We are neither of us popular. It's bad enough for me to have to go.” “Why can't you allow it, Dannie?” And his son recognized the same cheerful tone with which he had always met and overruled his objections. “It will end in your arrest, and we don't want that.” “It's more than likely I'll be arrested sooner or later, anyhow,” he said, with a suggestion of weariness, as if this were a matter it was a waste of time to consider. “The Lord has set His face against me. It's His wish I should return. I've been stubborn and headstrong and wouldn't see it, but look there,” and he nodded towards the red western sky. “It's a summons. I got to obey, whether I want to or not.” “It won't be safe. No telling what they will do with you.” “That ain't the question, Dannie; that ain't at all the question. It's not what they'll do to me,” and he softly patted the hand that rested on his arm. Dan saw that his clothes hung loosely to his mighty frame. They were torn and stained. He had the appearance of a man who had endured hardship, privation, and toil. His glance was fugitive and anxious. “Where have you been all this while?” he asked. “Not here?” “No, I have been living in the woods, trying to escape from the country, and the fires wouldn't let me. Wherever I went, they were there ahead of me, driving me back.” “Why did you kill him? How did it happen?” Dan added. “Or is it all a mistake? Did you do it?” The smile faded from the old convict's lips. “It was a sort of accident, and it was sort of carelessness, Dannie,” he explained, with a touch of sullenness. “I hit him--not hard, mind you. I know I shouldn't have done it, but he was in the wrong, and he wouldn't listen to reason. I don't know when I ever seen a man so set in his wickedness.” “And now you want to go back. Do you know what it means if you are arrested? Have you thought of that?” Roger Oakley waved the query aside as though it concerned him not at all. “I want to be with you,” he said, wistfully. “You may not get through alive, and I want to be with you. You'll need me. There's no one you can trust as you can me, for I won't fail you, no matter what the danger is. And there's the girl, Dannie. Have you thought of her?”