He was going to add more, but at this point he caught that glimpse of
the man on the trestle which brought about the interruption in the
talk already described.

Roy soon emerged from the line of shade in his climb up the embankment
and the scorching afternoon sun beat down on him mercilessly. But he
did not cease his exertions to reach the top as quickly as possible.
He knew that a train for the city would be along very soon now; he
remembered the curve just beyond the bridge; the engineer could not
see whether there was an obstruction in the way, until he should be
too close on it to stop.

Then he thought of Mr. Tyler, and of how nobody liked him, with all
his money, which he hoarded like a miser. He was probably crossing the
bridge now to take the train for the city from Marley, and save the
additional five cents he might have to pay if he boarded it at
Burdock, which was much nearer his home.

But he was human, he was an old man; he was helpless now, doubtless
overcome by the heat. And there was nobody about but Roy to prevent
what might be a tragedy.

On he toiled. The loose dirt slid out from under his feet and rattled
down the hillside behind him. The perspiration poured from his face in
streams. What a contrast this was, he thought, to sitting there over
the creek placidly fishing!

He had gained the top now and, scarcely pausing to take a long breath,
he ran out over the ties till he reached Mr. Tyler's prostrate form.