When he had signed, sealed, and directed the letter, he put a stamp on it and went out and closed the bank, pushing the key back into the room through a crack beneath the shutter. He then slowly crossed the deserted square to the post-office on the corner and deposited the letter. After this he stood with his strong arms folded, looking about irresolutely. In front of him lay the town's single line of horse-cars, which led to the railway station half a mile distant. One of the cars stood in front of him. It had made its last slow and jangling trip to meet the nine-o'clock north-bound train. The track stretched out before him, the worn bars gleaming like threads of silver in the moonlight. Casting one other look about him, and heaving a deep sigh, he lowered his head and started for the station. “I think this is Jack Thomas' run,” he reflected. “If it is, he will take me aboard.” CHAPTER VI REACHING the depot in the edge of the town where there were only three or four cottages, a hotel of the lowest class, and a negro dive masquerading as a restaurant, at which fried spring chicken, hot biscuits, and a cup of coffee were advertised on a crude placard for twenty-five cents, he met few signs of wakefulness. At a switch near a water-tank with a dripping spout a watchman stood with a dingy lantern. Walton moved over to him. “South-bound freight on time?” he asked. The man looked at him indifferently. “I heard her blow at the crossing,” he answered. “There! can't you hear her rumble?” “Who's the conductor?” “Jack Thomas, if he didn't lay over at Red Hill to spend Sunday with his folks.” “I want to speak to him. Where will his cab stop?” The man had filled his short pipe, and he took the globe off his lantern to light it. “The engine will water here at the tank,” he said, gruffly. “The cab will stop down near the tool-house on account of the length of the train--a lot of empty fruit-cars going South.” “All right; thank you.” Walton moved away, and leaned against a stack of cross-ties near the tool-house. He could now quite clearly hear the rumble of the coming train. There was a wide stretch of old cotton and corn fields, now barren and out of use, between him and the train, and across them presently shot the wavering gleam of the engine's headlight. On it came, growing larger and steadier till it had passed him, and with the harsh creaking of brakes on massive, groaning wheels the locomotive came to a stop. The side door of the caboose was open. A man holding a lantern lightly swung himself to the ground, and peered up at a brake-man on the roof of the car. “Unwind her, and run to the other end!” he ordered. “You needn't hang around my cab all night. I haven't a drop to drink.” “All right, Cap,” and, jumping from car to car on the foot-boards overhead, the brakeman disappeared in the cloud of steam and smoke which the locomotive was belching forth. “Hello, Jack!” Walton came forward.