"DEATH TO YOU!"

Straightening to his full height after uttering the three terrible
words, Martin Skidway snatched a heavy iron bolt from the ground, that
had lain long beside the track, and raised it above the head of
helpless Dyke Darrel.

"Martin Skidway, hold!"

The words of the detective came forth in a thrilling cry.

An instant the would be assassin stayed his hand.

"You agree to my terms?"

"No; but--"

"Then you must die. It will be considered an accident, and no one will
suspect my hand in the affair."

Again the young convict poised his weapon for deadly work. On the
instant the rumble of wheels met the ears of Martin Skidway.

A wagon containing two men was in sight, moving down a road that ran
parallel with the railway at this point. It was evident that the
occupants of the vehicle had seen Skidway, and to strike now would but
add to the vengeance of pursuit and punishment. With a curse, he
dropped the iron bolt and turned to flee.