followed, and, every muscle relaxed, he sank a senseless man in the dust
of the road.

"Help me pick him up," said Cummings, "and be quick about it, there's
another beak around."

"I can't. I've got his darbies on."

Cummings stooped down, and lifting Chip in his arms, walked rapidly down
the road toward the river.

"What are you going to do with him, Jim?"

"Chuck him through the ice. He knows too much."

With the senseless man in his arms, Cummings hurried forward, nor paused
until he reached the river bank.

The weather had been piercingly cold for a week, although no snow had
fallen, and the river was frozen solid from bank to bank.

To this fact Chip owed his life. When the train robber came to the ice,
he sounded it with his heel. It was solid and firm, not even an air hole
to be seen.

Baffled in his murderous designs, he debated for a second whether it
would not be the best thing to leave the detective on the ice, and let
him freeze to death, but the publicity of the place, its proximity to
the city, and the risk of having been shadowed by the man whom he had
caught gazing through the window, caused him to think of some secure